By Night
by LilyBartAndTheOthers
Summary: Boston looks different by night, people abandon themselves to another kind of life. How a series of murders pushes Jane and Maura into each other's arms yet tearing them apart at the same time; all of this under the pale gaze of the moonlight. Eventual Rizzles.
1. Funeral Oration

_**Author's note: reviews more than appreciated - updates every two days (unless you prefer it on a daily basis, let me know)**_

**Chapter One – Funeral Oration**

The car stopped, its headlights embracing the rain in a curtain of golden shades. In spite of the police officers already dispatched around to secure the area, the street was dark and uninviting. Cold.

Everything looks different at night, from a neighbor's smile to the architecture of buildings that seem to rise – powerfully – from the ground. Fears creep in the silent darkness before sliding icily into people's minds, leading to doubts and eventually insomnia as the nightmares repressed during the day decide to turn to life. Nobody feels fine by then.

Nobody but Maura.

Sat behind the steering-wheel of her car – observing absentmindedly the downpour outside – the honey blonde focused on her breathing and the rush of adrenalin the phone call had released through her body thirty minutes earlier. Her eyes caught a bright light coming from her left, a few feet ahead. Televisions had already arrived. As usual.

Everything went faster by night.

As she finally opened the door of her car, the wind rushed in; sending a shiver down her spine. Voices echoed in the dark – somewhere behind the fog that seemed to exude from the asphalt – but instead of trying to see any figure around, the scientist went for her umbrella then put a foot on the ground.

In a pop sound, the item revealed its black fabric – fragile shield against the enraged weather – just as the first rain drop brushed her ankle. The damp contact made her scowl and regret to not have chosen boots instead of stilettos. Clutched to her medical bag and umbrella, she closed back the door with her hip and finally started walking towards the scene.

"Good evening, Dr. Isles."

In an utter silence, she nodded at the young police officer and straightened up; aware of the journalists who were now staring at her.

She had ended up considering it as a funeral oration. A sweet vengeance before a painful past she hated thinking about. The invisible Maura Isles was gone once and for all. She had been buried – forgotten – as her ambition and talent had finally been recognized and she would have lied if she had now said that all these cams turned towards her didn't bring an ounce of self-satisfaction.

People knew who she was. Her face appeared on television, in newspapers. She was respected – feared, at times – but most of all indispensable to a whole system leading to justice; and pain relief.

She had even been given a nickname - The Queen of the Dead – as the ultimate proof that people cared about her and what she had to say. It wasn't a desperate quest of popularity but a delightful way to cock a snook at all these years of nonexistence she had had to deal with.

She passed under the yellow tape – barely hid a smirk as she heard a journalist say her name – and let a second officer lead her to the epicenter of what had high chances to be a murder.

Frost turned out to be the first well-known face she came across to and by the paleness of his cheeks, it didn't take her a long time to assume that the scene was particularly gruesome. The singular smell of blood confirmed it quickly.

"The rain is washing away all the evidence."

Wrinkling her nose, she stared at the ground – the old cobblestones – way too clean around the body. A bare shade of red embracing the rain drops and melting away along her own feet.

"Head included."

_The brain uses two different parts to recognize a voice the person will consider as familiar: the auditory and the visual ones. Both work together and develop at a very young age. These two senses give similar and personal information about someone. Information being data._

_Data leading to feelings._

Maura immediately looked up – turned her head – and locked her hazel eyes with darker ones. Barely repressing a smile, she rose an eyebrow at her friend and pouted; rather unconvinced.

"As much as water forces are among the most powerful ones, I doubt that the current downpour has a chance to sweep away a person's head to the point of making it disappear, Jane."

The detective shrugged and rose her free hand in the air – the one that wasn't holding an umbrella – in her very typical ironical way of pretending to abdicate. She pursed her lips, frowned.

"So no chance to find it back in Chinatown Park?"

Maura tilted her head on a side and was about to reply when a flash made them both jump of surprise.

The brunette turned on her heels as her hoarse voice resounded loud – menacing – against the media that had dared to take a few pictures.

Unlike Maura, Jane hated being in the spotlight. It made her cringe and involuntarily increased the dose of stress that a case could bring. Once people knew about a murder, all the gazes were turned towards her. The slightest mistake and she dragged in her fall the image of the Boston police.

A whole reputation.

"I'm still surprised none of these crows ever showed up at my place... Imagine if they did and they saw you there. I bet you they'd forget right away about the case and we'd end up making the headlines of that trashy yellow press. Who knows what these rapacious twats are capable of? Especially since you're so mysterious to their eyes."

Maura smiled – quietly enough – and cast a glance at the group of journalists standing at the end of the alley. They knew her name and her job position – even probably her address – but in spite of all of this, they often highlighted the idea that the chief medical examiner of Massachusetts was a complete mystery.

"It is their own way to spice up the image I represent, I suppose. Doesn't someone who works with the dead have to own a singular, mysterious shade? It sounds more appealing. Classic scheme."

And true. Because nobody really knew Maura Isles, in the end. Nobody was able to keep track of her personal life. Especially by night. Not even Jane.

Suddenly ashamed of her own thoughts, the blonde looked down at the body and squatted by it. There wasn't much she could do right now. The rain had cooled down the victim's temperature and with such weather conditions, a further exam would be more conclusive at the morgue.

In a dry environment. Under a bright light.

"Autopsy tomorrow morning at 9. You can go back to sleep. I am going to give my authorization so they take away the body."

Jane made a face and shook her head. The neighborhood was quiet and the few passers-by had already seen their identity saved up on the brand new opened file. In theory, the call was over and she could go back to her place.

In theory. Because she was wide awake, now.

"I was having a hard time falling asleep, anyway."

The alarm set off in Maura's head. Out of habit. Standing back up, she looked around and saw a bright neon light opposite the street. Chinatown was quiet but not quite asleep. With a tone she hoped casual, she walked up the alley and addressed her friend as they reached the yellow tape.

"How about some late-night tea?"


	2. Nocturnal Convolutions

_**Author's note: thank you for the reviews; it will be a daily update, then.**_

**Chapter Two – Nocturnal Convolutions**

She turned the water off – a few drops escaping from the tap and landing in quiet circles in the bath – and sighed as she undressed herself. The linen pants slid on her legs in a long forgotten caress before embracing her ankles almost warmly. But the vapors of the water were more inviting and within a few seconds Maura settled in the tub then closed her eyes.

Like soft – hot - hands brushing her skin, the water wrapped up her body and with a sigh of satisfaction she leaned her head backwards to fully enjoy the relaxing effect of such feelings. The day had been too long and stressful. The corpse found in Chinatown seemed to have stirred up an odd frenzy at the BPD and after a very short night, dealing with an unusual case had turned to be tougher than expected.

And then there was Jane. Jane and her insomnia.

They hadn't alluded to it because the brunette hated doing so. But like any problem you don't solve and just push away, it kept on coming back. With regularity. Nocturnal convolutions that make you feel a tad dizzy; some sort of invisible tornado of disturbing feelings. Leaned over their respective green teas, the silence of the night had carried them for a while before they had dared to speak.

They had stuck to random things. Not that it had fooled anyone but it had sounded reassuring and that was what most of people wanted to hear when the night fell over the city.

As she stretched out her leg – her foot landing on top of the bathtub – Maura realized that her fingers had been running on her inner thigh for a while, drawing abstract forms on her flesh. Yet she hadn't felt the slightest thing; not even the mere tickle that her fingertips were now fully stirring up as she kept on moving her hand further up.

A peaceful smile embraced her lips and she arched her back as the caress became bolder; closer to her most sensitive skin.

The house was quiet and empty. Angela hadn't stopped by and it hadn't taken Maura a long time to get that she would probably spend the evening on her own.

Unless she went out. The downpour had faded away and the temperatures were warm. She could have gone to a bar but she felt too tired for that. Not really eager to call anyone either. Being alone was comforting at times.

Her breath turned rough as she sped up the pace of her ministrations between her legs. There was no teasing anymore, her urge had become too direct; too strong. She bit her lips – frowned – repressed a moan and tried to ignore the bitterness brought up by the sudden image of Jane invading her mind.

It had turned into a habit, anyway. A quiet one.

…

The door opened only to reveal Maura tightening her belt on a silk bathrobe. Jane frowned, suddenly aware of the fact that – perhaps – she should have called instead of coming straight away to her friend's house.

"Am I interrupting... Something?"

The awkward choice of words made the Italian blush. She hadn't meant to imply anything at all and yet it was exactly how it had sounded. But at the same time, it was barely 9pm, Maura couldn't have gone to bed already.

Or at least not to fall asleep.

"Not at all. I took a bath and was about to prepare dinner. Have you eaten already?"

Jane shook her head and – relieved – entered the house with Jo Friday by her side. A bottle of wine was resting on the kitchen island as well as the cardboard box of a pizza. The Italian stopped. That was slightly out of character for Maura. Feeling a great opportunity to tease the medical examiner, Jane smirked and rose a playful eyebrow before motioning the counter.

"I didn't know this was your definition of getting the dinner ready, Maur'."

The honey blonde poured two glasses of wine – held one out to her friend – then opened the box with a satisfactory smile. Jane made a face and wrinkled her nose before daring a closer look.

"Gluten free pizza with tofu, steamed vegetables and organic cheese toppings. I didn't feel like cooking, tonight."

The detective almost choked on her wine. With big – wide – eyes, she shook her head at her friend in disbelief then grabbed her own cell phone to dial a number.

"Tofu on a pizza? This is an insult to my roots, Maura. I get a new delivery asap. There's no way I eat that thing and same for you. It's a no-go."

The scientist rolled her eyes and grabbed a slice in defiance. It was weird how within a second she could go from being lonely and quietly melancholic to secretly thrilled to have someone around. Though it only happened with Jane. The other people she met came and went without her having time to even remember their names.

She sat up on a stool – not caring much about the way her bathrobe opened to reveal her hips when she crossed her legs – and squinted her eyes at the plastic bag Jane had in hand. She hadn't paid attention to it so far but now the Japanese symbols on it intrigued her. A lot.

She motioned at it in silence while her friend was ordering a new pizza. Jane complied, gave her the bag to check its contents. With a natural meticulousness, Maura took out of it a dozen of manga and put them down on the counter in front of her.

They hadn't been translated in English and as much as she couldn't read Japanese, she recognized the drawing of some. Absentmindedly, she passed a finger over their covers and waited for Jane to finish her call before speaking.

"What are you doing with _Yuri_ stories?"

The detective frowned in great confusion - obviously not familiar with the term - before taking a receipt out of the plastic bag.

"The woman you autopsied this morning had ordered them. I went to pick them up before coming here. Looks like she was into manga."

Taking another sip of her wine, Maura nodded and leafed through one of them; sat closer to the counter, suddenly focused on the piece of information she had just been given.

"And more specifically into the _Yuri _genre."

But as her friend remained silent, the scientist felt the urge to give further explanation to her previous remark.

"It is a Japanese jargon term for content and genre of stories that involve love between women in manga and anime. It focuses on the sexual or emotional aspect of the relationship. The themes actually find their roots in the Japanese lesbian literature of the early twentieth century but it mostly appeared in anime and manga in the mid-seventies."

Jane tried to register Maura's explanation but an ounce of mischievousness won over the rest and playfully, she rose an eyebrow at her friend.

"I didn't know you were into manga school girls..."

The blonde rolled her eyes – laughed lightly - and closed back the book before pushing it further on the kitchen counter.

"It doesn't necessarily have to do with girls wearing school uniforms. _Yuri_ have all kind of contexts to which the readers can identify or at least they can find the one that turns them on the most. It is just another kind of erotic fiction... With visual stimulation."

This was the exact reason why people kept on wondering about Maura Isles; what pushed people to wonder about her personal life. Her statements often came out of the blue yet you were left there wondering if it was all just some knowledge or if the blonde had something to hide. Something she had never told anyone about. She might not have been able to lie, she surely knew how to choose her words to avoid a question.

Exactly as she had just done.

"You're quirky, Maura Isles. Promise me you'll always be like that."

Jane smiled, giggled as she grabbed her glass of wine and took a sip. And the mere sight of it was suddenly worth a thousand hentaï for Maura.


	3. Secretive Dichotomy

_**Author's note: thank you for the reviews!**_

**Chapter Three – Secretive Dichotomy**

She had heard about it by accident one day as she had stepped into the office of a renowned female journalist, quite influential in Boston. The woman was on the phone when she had given the name of the place, asking her interlocutor to meet her there. The smile she had given Maura afterward – a mix, rather subtle, of mischievousness and curiosity – had made the rest and as she had left the building the medical examiner was carrying in her purse a card with the address of the club.

It was select. The guests were hand-picked. Most of them having jobs with high responsibilities. None of them felt like making the headlines of a tabloid for frequenting such a place, abandoning themselves to such activities once the night had fallen over the city.

They weren't ashamed. They simply knew that it was better if it remained secret.

The waitress brought the Martini and put it down on the oak table before turning around to head back to the bar counter. Sat in a comfortable leather armchair, Maura looked at her; the way the black dress moved on the woman's hips under each one of her steps led by vertiginous stilettos. Her rhythm was one of pure perfection; a tantalizing parallelism with the music playing.

"Feeling close to the staff tonight, Isles?"

A peaceful smiled curled up her lips. Bending over the table and offering a full view of her cleavage to the whole room, she grabbed her drink then let the vodka slide on her throat before embracing her stomach of a comforting warmth.

"No."

The brunette sitting next to her burst out laughing. An intoxicating voice; full of self-confidence, rather deprived of any genuine nuance. Catherine Banks was a very talented lawyer. A strong woman as well. Intimidating even in the sweetest, most intimate moments.

"It's been a while since the last time you came here."

The ice cubes hit the edge of her glass as Maura moved them around. She liked the odd melody of the contact. Fragility meeting with solidity. An oxymoron within a sound.

"I was working."

Catherine Banks wasn't a friend but an acquaintance. And yet. If she hadn't come to the club one night – out of curiosity – Maura would have never talked to her outside of a court. She did have her number but for professional purposes only and they didn't call each other; only happened to meet behind the doors of the private club.

And a couple of times in the intimacy of a bedroom but it was long forgotten.

"On a case or on your detective?"

Maura finally looked up and locked her eyes with pale green ones. She didn't like Catherine's amazing nonchalance but envied her for it. She was herself too dark for that. Too self-conscious.

"She is straight."

The lawyer lit a cigarette and swept away Maura's comment with a gesture of the hand. Her gaze was lost on an invisible point somewhere down the lounge. Unless she had succumbed to personal thoughts and silent regrets.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't define the rules of the game and you know it."

A buzzing sound made them both look down at the table. Maura's cell phone had lit up as the name of Jane appeared now brightly on the screen. Catherine repressed an ironical laugh and rose an eyebrow rather sarcastically.

"Be careful, Isles. You're playing with fire."

Maura stood up – adjusted her dress – and disarmed enough, shrugged at her interlocutor. Her nails dug in the leather of her purse as something hurt in her heart. She pursed her lips.

"That's all I have."

She didn't give time for Catherine to reply. She didn't want to hear anything, not now. Not tonight. She lacked strength to face a few facts and who cared anyway if she lived in a dream that nobody or so had to know about?

But even as she reached Jane's apartment and knocked on the door, her whisper kept on burning on her lips. The words had been bitter, painful. True.

"C'mon in, Maur'. I made popcorn."

The scientist stepped inside the living-room and took her shoes off. She had come straight away after receiving her friend's message and was still wearing stilettos a bit too high to stand in them for a long time; appropriate for a bar, not for an evening inside.

Jo Friday welcomed her warmly, brushing her ankles and following her to the kitchen where she leaned against the counter before accepting the glass of wine Jane held out to her.

"Wait. Were you on a date? You look..."

The Italian motioned at the dress, her face. Immediately, Maura shook her head but chose to take a long sip of wine before replying. If only to win some time.

"I am not seeing anyone, Jane."

Her answer seemed to have a comforting effect because all of a sudden the brunette's features lightened up and everything went back to normal. Or so. It wasn't a lie, anyway. Maura had stopped dating for quite a while. It didn't work out, she had lost patience for it. One-night stands were frustrating but nonetheless satisfying when she didn't want to be alone at night.

"How is Casey?"

Jane casually put down the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table – sat on her couch – and shrugged at the question as Maura came to settle by her side. Not that the honey blonde felt like talking about him but she knew she had to. That was what people expected her to do.

"Oh, he canceled our Skype session. Last minute change of plan... But anyway, I didn't ask you to come here for that."

Maura nodded – somewhat relieved – yet troubled as Jane didn't keep on talking. Clutched to her glass of wine that had suddenly become indispensable to her survival, the honey blonde cast a glance around. Desperate before such silence. She wasn't good at guessing and hated it. Especially after a full workday.

"I didn't want to be alone, tonight."

The confession took Maura aback, its nuances twirling in her head before wrapping up her body of an odd yet delicate feeling. Jane was staring at her lap; embarrassed by her own words. Should she have really said that? It had sounded selfish, probably a tad sad as well. Incomprehensible, out of character.

Too much vulnerability within a few murmured words in the silence of the night.

Without a word, Maura closed the distance with her friend before taking her in her arms; holding her tight. Jane settled there. There was no complain, no joke. Nothing at all. The Italian's dark eyes were absentmindedly focused on the coffee table while the scientist's heat soothed her brain and calmed her troubled soul.

A secret dichotomy of feelings. That was how Maura saw it. The gap between what she showed to the crowd of strangers had very little to do with whom she really was to the point it could even be seen and described as the exact opposite of her public figure. And Jane was alike. In her own way. She knew it. They both knew it.

That was the reason why their relation was so singular.

"I've read two of the manga the Chinatown victim had ordered. It could be us, Maura. The brunette and the blonde, the tomboy and the feminine woman. Fighting crime... The adventure, justice type... It's weird to think about that."

Maura swallowed hard. Her heart was beating fast as a wave of discomfort spread over her mind.

"We aren't lovers, Jane."

The detective shrugged – not troubled the least by the comment – and folded her legs under her to settle further in her friend's arms. She repressed a yawn, closed her eyes.

"But we have the emotional part."


	4. Disillusioned Soliloquy

_**Author's note: Thank you very much for all the reviews...**_

**Chapter Four – Disillusioned Soliloquy**

The buildings were speeding past in a strange mix of darkness and particles of light; sliding along the empty sidewalks like ephemeral ribbons of bright, neon colors. Elbow leaned against the window, Maura let her eyes wander from the nocturnal sight outside to Jane's hands holding firmly the steering-wheel. The detective still had to say a word since they had left the BPD. She looked tense, annoyed.

"Perhaps there is no correlation at all between both..."

Maura's sentence died halfway through her lips, swept away by her friend's chuckle. The irony was a bit too evident all of a sudden. And heavy.

"Two headless bodies within a week? If there's one thing this job taught me is to never believe in coincidences. And you should stick to that too."

As much as she would have liked proving the exact opposite to such argument, Maura knew that Jane was right. They hadn't even reached the scene yet that a whole series of elements seemed to match and lead to disturbing conclusions.

Dealing with a murder was one thing. The possibility of a serial killer was another one.

In spite of the impressive amount of police officers dispatched around Boston Common, a crowd had gathered by the yellow tape next to the media. Maura cast a glance at the journalists and recognized among them Bella Hartman. An imperceptible smile curled up the scientist's lips but she immediately focused back on the crime scene.

Anyway the rules of the club were clear: outside of it, nobody knew anyone or at least not in public. What happened at the hype lounge or behind the doors of a bedroom was one thing. The rest was all about a game of appearances.

For long minutes Maura lost herself in basic observations, primary facts that years of practice had put in the 'out of automatism' category. Nothing else matter but the body – every single inch of skin – and microscopic details that could reveal themselves paramount in the end. She had heard people say that – by then – she was in some sort of silent trance. The world could have stopped turning that she wouldn't have noticed the slightest thing.

Her concentration was strong, overwhelming.

"Would you like to come home for a drink?"

Her question made two men from the crime unit chuckle as they passed by her and Jane. She blushed but tried to pretend that their reaction hadn't touched her. Perhaps she should have chosen other words for such an offer. The brunette made a face and rubbed her nape before shaking her head.

"Nah. It's late and I have to walk Jo Friday. Besides, Casey's supposed to call me so it'd be better if I were home, I guess."

Jane's last sentence got the effect of two bullets passing through her skin and bumping against her heart before reducing it to pieces. _Bang, bang._ And then the pain. But she smiled, swallowed hard.

She didn't like Casey because he had stolen Jane from her. Just like that, one day. Without any warning whatsoever.

She had ceased to be the first person the brunette wanted to be with. She had ceased to be all these things that had given sense – even if cruelly – to her existence and before the ruins of an odd relation she had never dared to name properly, Maura remained bare; fragile.

Her anger had subdued through the weeks and she had ended up accepting the idea. What could she do, anyway? Afghanistan was far yet too close, too destructive even thousand miles away. But as much as she tried to reason with herself, an old disillusioned soliloquy kept on coming back in her head.

Aggressively. Oppressively.

"Nice neighborhood, Isles."

Bella Hartman's voice in her back made her jump of surprise. She turned around and looked at the tall woman approaching. Beacon Hill was quiet at this hour of the night. She hadn't seen her arrive. With a nonchalant motion of the head that reminded the scientist of Catherine Banks, the journalist looked at the house and plunged her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

"May I come in?"

Maura seemed to hesitate. For long seconds, she stared at the unexpected guest without saying a word. Then the breeze of the night caressed her nape and sent her back to reality. She pursed her lips.

"I won't give you any piece of information about the case. You will get the official statement once it is published in the morning. Like anyone else."

The journalist smiled brightly before passing her tongue over her lips rather suggestively as her gray eyes traveled down Maura's body.

"I didn't come for a talk. I am not Mata Hari."

The reference made her smile, just like her interlocutor's rather direct attitude. It was bold and somewhat exciting if she had to be honest. Or at least in such circumstances. Maura quietly opened the door and let Bella come in as her bitter resentment towards Casey suddenly grew bigger; made her shake of anger.

If she had been asked, the scientist would have had a hard time telling when exactly she had realized that she was sexually attracted to women. It had probably always been lying there – to an extent – but one day it had become more evident and all of a sudden she had found herself kissing one of her college classmates.

Such realization hadn't troubled her much and she had gone with the flow, more or less. Her discretion over her private life had nothing to do with a possible shame. She simply preferred it that way. It was personal and what she did of her nights was nobody's business but hers. She wasn't good at handling relationships anyway so what was the point of talking about someone who would end up leaving her one day?

But then she had met Jane and everything had tipped over. She had tried on several occasions to let her friend understand, to let her guess that she wasn't exclusive to men. Subtle allusions thrown all around, here and there. In vain.

And now she knew that it was too late.

So if she couldn't tell her about this part of her life, how could she be able to open up about her feelings and blurt it all out? It was a dead-end path. A cruel trap.

"Red or white?"

Bella Hartman wasn't much of the beer type, obviously. Besides, these bottles were Jane's. And nobody else's. Certainly not the ones of a nocturnal – ephemeral – acolyte. The journalist shrugged and sat on one of the stools of the kitchen.

"Red will be just fine."

Maura poured two glasses – held out one of them to her guest – then took her shoes off before going to sit next to the journalist.

She rose her drink in a vague cheer and took a deep breath as the wine slid on her throat in an intoxicating embrace. These late-night moments were bitter without Jane.

"Catherine is sending me."

Amused, the honey blonde rose an eyebrow and repressed a giggle of surprise. She took another sip – frowned at her interlocutor – and shook her head as confusion won over any kind of reasoning. Bella didn't seem troubled by her reaction the slightest bit.

"She thinks you need to be entertained."

The contact of her glass with the top of the kitchen counter resounded loud. Elbow against the edge of it – head leaned against the palm of her hand – Maura smiled at her guest. Disillusioned.

"So you are now officiating as a call-girl? How romantic."

Against all expectations, the comment took Bella aback. Slightly, vaguely.

Shifting on her stool, the woman approached a hand from Maura's knee and let her fingers draw invisible lines on it.

"That's what you're looking for?"

Maura looked down - stared at the journalist's hand on her body – and all along wished nothing but it to belong to Jane. A pain stirred up in her heart as she thought about her friend. She pushed it away and took a deep breath; swallowed hard.

"No. Not really..."


	5. Intrinsic Fantasies

_**Author's note: Thank you all for your kind reviews; I agree with the guest about the whole Jane/Casey and Maura/some woman.**_

**Chapter Five – Intrinsic Fantasies**

"Digital self-stimulation."

Jane choked on her beer. A violent cough took possession of her and made half of the restaurant room turn around to look at her. Red – highly embarrassed – she hid herself behind her dark curls and shook her head at Maura.

"This is neither the right place nor the right moment to suggest me to play with myself. If there's one moment at all for such suggestion."

The honey blonde shrugged and subconsciously emphasized the antithesis she formed with her friend; from her position opposite the table to her relaxed state of mind. She brought her fork to her mouth and chewed on the pasta, enjoying the delicate flavor of the sauce mixed with different spices. The dish was delicious and woke up every single one of her taste buds in perfect harmony. She grabbed her glass of wine, made the purple liquid turn around; embrace the transparent surface.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with masturbation. It is a very common act, and healthy."

Jane frowned, asking her in silence to stop. The Italian was always uncomfortable when talking about sex which deeply amused Maura. When in a teasing mood, the scientist engaged in a game of delicate and subtle verbal convolutions just to see her friend get falsely offended. The purpose was not to embarrass Jane but the blonde found her utterly cute by then.

It was just another intrinsic fantasy, too personal to ever be revealed.

"Nothing can ever replace the fact of... Being two."

Jane made a face at her own remark. She should have known better than admit that she was tense but the words had escaped from her mouth before she had realized that Maura would see in them a brand new opportunity to talk about sex. In a scientific approach, besides.

"Well if you weren't in an exclusive relationship that wouldn't be an issue in itself."

The brunette barely paid attention to the provocative statement and looked down at her friend's hands. Maura hadn't gone on a date for months and yet Jane didn't even know if it had gone any further than some dinner at a restaurant. As much as the medical examiner had no problem whatsoever to separate feelings from basic needs, the Italian assumed that it had been a while since her friend had shared a minimum of intimacy with someone.

"I am not left-handed, Jane. It is my right hand you should be looking at if you are now wondering with which one I actually..."

The detective motioned her to stop. One more time. Perhaps they shouldn't have gone to the restaurant. The conversation was headed in a disturbing direction when they had a case to work on. In spite of the years spent at the BPD, Jane still had a hard time letting go of everything at the end of the day. As long as a file hadn't been closed, she didn't think about anything else. Not a single minute. It was exhausting, physically and psychologically.

"When was the last time you slept with someone?"

A silence of surprise floated above the table as Jane's question resounded loud. Maura remained still – obviously taken aback – as a pale smile kept on lighting up her features. It was the first time that her friend asked about something like that. Was it an act of boldness or just an incomprehensible verbal mishap from the Italian?

"Last night."

For long seconds Maura wondered if her honesty had had the effect of a bomb or had simply resulted enough to stir up disappointment in her friend's head. Jane blinked – speechless – as a whole machine was setting off in her head to assemble every single element she had been given in the hope the result would make sense.

She failed.

"But we were at a crime scene, last night. In Boston Common. Then you offered me to come for a tea or whatever at your place. You weren't on a date."

_The heart has four chambers, two upper and two lower. The upper chambers are called the right and left atria and the two lower are the right and left ventricles. _

_A valve connects each atrium with its corresponding ventricle. The tricuspid valve connects the right atrium and ventricle and the mitral valve connects the left atrium and ventricle. Two additional valves complete the set: the pulmonic valve connects the right ventricle with the pulmonary artery and the aortic valve connects the left ventricle with the aorta. These four valves function like gates, allowing blood to flow in one direction with each heartbeat. _

_But the heart is sensitive and a single word can trouble its usual rhythm._

_Like now._

Maura swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Bella Hartman had showed up at her place unexpectedly to say the least.

"It wasn't very late when we left the crime scene."

Weak argument but nothing eloquent had made it to her brain on time for her to bring up an answer she would have judged satisfying enough. On the other side of the table, Jane seemed to ponder her words. Calmly. Until a smirk curled up her lips and she looked at Maura mischievously.

"A last-minute hookup? Well, well, well... Dr. Isles surely has interesting night stories to share with the rest of the class. Spill it out. I'm all ears. Who is he? What does he look like? What does he do? Please tell me you do know all these things and you didn't pick him up at a store on your way back home along with a bottle of wine."

And then she panicked. Miserably, shamefully. Jane's dark eyes on her began to burn as if her friend's gaze had passed underneath her skin to tighten a mortal embrace over her heart. She couldn't say a thing. The words didn't come out. They were gathering halfway in her throat to form a lump echoing silent tears that made her vision blurry. She opened her mouth to speak but ended up shaking her head, looking down at her plate.

"Excuse me."

Maura rushed to the bathroom in a blaring sound and as she found enough courage to leave her shelter after what seemed to last an eternity, she came across Jane waiting for her by the door; their respective jackets in hand. An apologetic smile on her lips, conscious she had involuntarily crossed invisible limits.

"The dinner is on me... And since we aren't supposed to talk about the case this evening, how about we now go for ice-cream and a movie?"

They wouldn't talk about Maura's unexpected outburst. As usual, they would simply go on as if nothing had happened. Not by fear but because they didn't know how to handle this kind of situation that was a lot more disturbing than any case they would ever have to face.

Everything was more complicated when it took a personal turn.

They stepped out on the street – Jane passed a protective arm around Maura's waist – and it was all suddenly perfect. Bitterly, the honey blonde looked at her feet and smiled to herself. Sometimes she wished that time could have frozen, that a thousand details could have got erased and nothing would be left but her and Jane. Another intrinsic and ridiculous fantasy that made her feel dizzy and lonely.

Like on any evening, the Theater District was busy. A delicate cacophony of conversations melting in the sound of the traffic. The blonde took a deep breath and nourished herself of the nocturnal scene.

"I love Boston by night."

The remark made Jane giggle quietly. She cast a furtive glance at Maura before focusing on a group of people standing by the Colonial Theater and thought about crime scenes.

"I hate it."

The Italian looked at her feet and let a complex smile embrace her lips as the rest of her sentence hit the air with a disturbing confidence; a delicate veracity.

"Except when I'm with you."


	6. Delicate Wisdom

_**Author's note: if you have survived the mess of last night finale, welcome here and thank you for all the reviews; no worries, I won't write about abusive relationships nor sexual assault borderline attitudes. I am not Janet Tamaro.**_

**Chapter Six – Delicate Wisdom**

Maura had always loved working at the BPD at night. By then, a delicate quietness spread over the building as a singular intimacy seemed to suddenly link the employees. Being part of a night shift was unique; strange. Relaxing.

The doors of the elevator opened and she walked down the corridor. Her stilettos were resounding loud on the floor in a perfect echo of her well-known confidence as the chief medical examiner of the state of Massachusetts.

She wouldn't say that people dreaded her but subconsciously or not they still kept a clear distance from her; unsure of the way they were supposed to deal with the figure of authority she represented and truth to be told, she didn't mind much.

"Anything new? I am still waiting for the lab results concerning the type of blade used by the killer."

Frost, Korsak and Jane nodded in silence and barely acknowledged the fact she sat on the edge of her friend's desk to rest her legs. The fabric of her dress moved up slightly, revealing the paleness of a hip that contrasted with the dark red of the piece of clothing.

"We have two victims – two women in their thirties – killed according to the same _modus operandi _in two different areas of the city. At night. Nothing was stolen from their bags, or at least not their wallet. Not even their credit cards. And that's it. That's the only thing that links them. They never crossed each other, never exchanged a word. Nothing... Absolutely nothing."

Jane's hoarse voice slid on her lips in a neutral tone. She sounded tired and slightly defeated before the obvious stagnancy of their work. What if at this exact moment, another woman was assaulted? What if because of their incapacity to get the mere thing from the two current victims, they found a third one in a few hours in some dark alley of the city?

"You forgot the manga and the DVD."

Frost's comment seemed to take Maura out of her daydream. Her curiosity suddenly piqued by a brand new piece of information, she looked at Jane and waited for an explanation. The Italian rolled her eyes. She didn't seem very convinced.

"The second victim had a thing for lesbian movies... But I find it to be a bit light. Their relatives didn't even seem to know much about this side of their life."

Frost shrugged – not particularly bothered by the remark – and straightened up in his desk chair to grab his mug of coffee.

"Perhaps they were still in the closet. It is rather common, let's face it. Speaking of which... Catherine Banks sent us a lovely invitation to testify on the Sanchez case on Tuesday."

Jane rolled her eyes and scoffed loudly. Or at least Maura assumed so because as the lawyer's name had hit the air, she had lost herself in another kind of wonders about Banks. Hopefully her slight discomfort had passed unnoticed; just like the way her body had got tense. Suddenly.

"All the single women aren't lesbians, Frost! I can't believe you're still on that. Just because she's rather powerful and direct doesn't mean she necessarily sleeps with women."

Something odd was happening to Maura. Deep inside, an invisible panic had started to blow – troubling the peace of her heartbeats – while a quiet smile had embraced her lips. The contrast was sharp. Timidly, she cast a glance at the fourth person in the room. Korsak seemed to enjoy the scene yet preferred to remain outside of it. Entertained, the man was still focused on his sandwich and a soft drink can he had just opened.

"Of course, she is! It never crossed your mind why she always attended official events alone? Or went with improbable dates like an eighty-year-old philanthropist friend? None of her relationships has ever been public. There's a reason to."

Jane pouted, frowned. Upset, she crossed her arms against her chest and shook her head at her young colleague.

"Perhaps she simply wants to keep her personal life private. That doesn't mean anything at all. She is a freaking _femme fatale_ yeah so I doubt she has the life of a nun but just because she is cold and distant to you doesn't mean she prefers women."

Frost was about to reply – eager to make the game last a bit longer – when Korsak's question stopped him right in his tracks.

"What do you think about it, Dr. Isles?"

The dynamism of Jane and Frost's exchange vanished within a second and as three pairs of eyes turned to stare at her, Maura wished the ground could have opened to swallow her. A frenzy of quiet images – sensual, prohibited ones – were rushing to her mind as her silence began to spread a nuance of confusion over the room.

She counted until three then passed her tongue over her lips. Her mouth was dry; her hands moist.

"I think that unless I am the first person concerned for being there, what Catherine Banks does in bed is none of my business."

_Touché_. Except the delicacy of her wisdom had very few to do with what her colleagues had assumed. Her words had probably sounded fair enough but Maura would have lied if she had said that the first person it had been directed to hadn't been herself. Her own life, her own activities; social interactions, nocturnal encounters.

Nobody knew anything.

It was the same for Catherine.

Feeling suddenly in the way – not at the right place – the honey blonde turned on her heels and took the direction of the elevators. Her break was over. She needed to find back the safety of her office without having a single gaze weighing heavily on her; a single brain analyzing the significance of her words.

She had slept with Catherine Banks. A couple of times. A few hours deprived of feelings but led by the odd and relieving sentiment to be understood without the need to explain the slightest thing.

She knew the lawyer's preferences in matter of sex. What turned her on, what drove her on the edge. A delicate – intimate – series of secrets that she would obviously keep for herself.

The coldness of her office made her shiver and instinctively Maura brought her hands to her arms as she stepped into it. The silence was uncomfortable, all of a sudden. Too heavy. She rushed to the stereo and slid a CD into the player. Closed her eyes as the first notes filled the room.

_Listening to music can have a tremendously relaxing effect on minds and bodies. Especially slow, and quiet music. It can have a beneficial effect on physiological functions, slowing the pulse and heart rate, lowering blood pressure; decreasing the levels of stress hormones._

"Scribe?"

Jane's voice resounded low; sweet. Contrasting with the sharpness of a reluctant return to reality. Maura turned around and smiled at her friend. She was pleasantly surprised by the Italian's knowledge but the uncomfortable possibility of a compliment made the brunette roll her eyes. She let herself fall on the couch and sighed.

"We do study classical music in the suburbs of Boston too, Maura... This is "_La Juive_". An opera about an impossible love between a Christian man and a Jewish woman. It is said to be about tolerance, and open-mindedness. Am I right? Written by Scribe in the 19th century."

Bitterness embraced Maura. The ironical parallelism between the prohibited love of the opera and her life turning a bit too evident, she simply looked down at her feet and nodded. She wouldn't have been able to speak.

It hurt. Too much.

Jane didn't seem to pay much attention to her sudden silence and grabbed the laptop abandoned on the coffee table before clearing her voice.

"Anyway... As much as talking about Wagner and his pals would be nice, we ain't paid for that so how about we both make research about the type of blade that could have killed the two victims now resting at the end of the corridor? I'm sure you know a lot more than I do about that."

And for the thousandth time, Maura's pain died in her friend's smile.


	7. Dual Eclipse

_**Author's note: thank you everyone again!**_

**Chapter Seven – Dual Eclipse**

"Stop it, Jane! Stop! Slow down! You are going way too fast, this won't end up well. Oh God... The road is going down, this is not good at all!"

The brunette repressed a chuckle and tightened her grip on the handlebar as the intersection with Exeter Street appeared right in front of her. She cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure that Maura hadn't fallen down but abruptly slowed down when the light turned red. The bike stopped in a blaring sound – making a few passers-by turn around – and broke the peaceful quietness of the neighborhood.

"You know what? This was a very bad idea. I think I will simply walk to The Esplanade or hail a taxi."

Maura put a foot down on the ground and was about to pass her leg over the bike when Jane's hand on her forearm reduced to ashes any kind of reasoning she might have had. The touch burnt, made the blonde's heart ache. Sweetly. Atrociously.

"Why did you feel the urge to ride a bike in the evening?"

There was no reproach in Maura's voice. Only an imperceptible nuance of defeat before her very own feelings. Jane had insisted, she hadn't been able to turn her down. A thousand reasons were rising like some invisible shield in front of her but to quiet the most delicate ones – in what sounded like a half-lie – she had convinced herself that her friend was simply trying to get a break from the stress brought by the case.

"C'mon, Maur'... Go back on and put your arms around me for better balance. We ain't far. I'll take by Clarendon and Sorrow Drive. I swear I won't go too fast."

A ghost of uncertainty deepened the scientist's features but without a word – without complaining – she settled back on the bike and swallowed hard as her hands slid on her friend's waist to rest on her lap.

"Are you alright?"

Maura nodded, unable to say the slightest thing. The softness of Jane's voice had only managed to strengthen the sweet torture that had invaded her body.

A storm of feelings, disillusions and dreams.

Nothing was fair. From Jane's smell going dizzily to her head to the harsh obviousness of a single fact that kept on shouting loud how it would never change; how things would remain the same and nothing would happen between the two of them. A well-known lump formed in Maura's throat, made her gasp for air. Jane stiffened.

"Trust me, Maura."

So she closed her eyes. Fully leaned against her friend's back, she pushed everything aside to nourish herself from the whirl of feelings that seemed to be giving life to her heart. And for a few minutes, it was all perfect. So fine.

…

The Esplanade was packed - groups of people scattered around on the grass, the sound of a guitar floating along the river - and finding a spot intimate enough among the crowd turned out to be harder than expected. The night had fallen over the city but before the exceptional warm temperatures, Boston had never looked so alive.

The result was oddly appealing.

"Have people ever assumed that you were a lesbian?"

The question made Maura freeze. She stared in front of her at the dark waters of the Charles River and tried to push away a whole series of images and words weighing heavy on her mind. Her silence and absence of proper reaction troubled Jane. The brunette cleared her voice, shook her head.

"Never mind. I'm sorry. It's... It's just because of the case and that conversation about Banks last night. I guess it's going a bit too much to my head. Of course nobody has ever thought you were a lesbian. I mean... You surely don't get this kind of remarks like I do. Clicheds hardly die."

Jane's clumsiness was adorable but the subject prevented Maura from taking it as lightly as she would have liked. Her heart was beating fast, now. Her hands were moist. She felt like a traitor. Anger twirling against herself in her stomach.

"Do you mind?"

The brunette shrugged and folded her legs to wrap her arms around them before leaning her chin on her knees in a protective attempt. Subconsciously.

"Have you ever wondered how it is? How... How it feels like to sleep with a woman?"

The conversation was taking a way too personal turn for Maura to feel alright. Invisible hands seemed to tighten an icy embrace on her frame while a deafening laugh kept on mocking her in her head.

The streetlights brought a golden shade to the area, a soft and warm nuance that made people's skin shine but her anxiety was such that she would have actually preferred to be in the dark.

"Have you?"

Jane ran a hand through her hair, frowned.

"Somehow. Out of curiosity, you know. Just like I wonder how it is to be a guy. This kind of things... I suppose it's... Different..."

Her circle of questions had to cease. She couldn't keep on answering her friend's by another question mark over and over again. It was easier but terribly coward.

Maura closed her eyes and thought about Bella Hartman, Catherine Banks and the other women who had happened – at some point – to cross her life. She focused on their sighs - the taste of their lips - and the way their backs had arched. The pleasure coming within quiet caresses; moans. She frowned and looked down at her lap.

"I don't think it is more a matter of sex than the person you are being intimate with. The connection you both share, the feelings. This is what makes it all different. Then – perhaps – there is indeed something that makes it more evident and logical with a woman because you know within yourself what she needs and how... For feeling the same. For having the same urges."

As her voice died in the air, Maura bit her lower lip and smiled apologetically. She had hardly known – hardly experienced herself – the first part of her argumentation. Except in her head when she thought about Jane.

"I think I'm gonna break up with Casey."

A group of students passed in front of them. Their laugh contrasting with the sudden silence that had wrapped up both women. Maura observed them going away, wondering if she had ever looked as alive as them. Perhaps it was a consequence of the morgue, of all these nights spent on shifts. Of all these crime scenes.

She was a joyful person or at least in appearance. But her soul seemed to have found a dark corner where to let itself fall asleep in silence.

"I don't know if it's me or him... Or just the distance. I don't even have the feeling to be in a relationship. It's not how it should be."

Jane's voice had rarely lacked so much confidence. On the verge of breaking down, lost in a fog of doubts. Maura repressed the urge to take her friend in her arms. She was dying for the mere contact but it didn't make sense. She was not in her right.

"Is this what you have been thinking about lately?"

The Italian made a face, not really convinced.

"Among other things. I've been mostly focused on the case, to be honest. You know how it works... See, that's why it's so easy with you. There's no explanation needed. You know who I am... And you accept it."

She had never underestimated the power of words but only Jane had this effect on her. Involuntarily, which only made everything even more bitter. The honesty of her statements was bare and deprived – way too perfectly – of any _double entendre_. But even if Maura knew about it, every single time she succumbed to it with a ridiculous, cruel easiness.

The world turned dark, falling in the hands of a dual eclipse. A phenomenon only happening in her head during which her hopes were torn down into pieces by the harshness of reality.

But she kept on dreaming.

Without really knowing why.


	8. Decadent Revolution

_**Author's note: Thank you again for the reviews; a bit of angst in this chapter but it won't last.**_

**Chapter Eight – Decadent Revolution**

The wind was blowing hard, humming a shrieking melody – an unbearable one – through the streets. As she looked down at the corpse, her fingers tightened their grip on her medical bag. She squinted her eyes. Impassive.

The shadow of her figure slid on the dark asphalt before dying by the journalists' feet at the end of the alley. From there, she looked like a wax statue. Deprived of any feeling, perfectly still. Her hair lost in a ballet of some sort carried on by the wind. The paleness of her complexion honoring the kingdom of death she had embraced a long time ago.

She wasn't the Queen of the Dead because of her job position only but because she matched it. Quietly. She was made for it.

Soon the coldness of the latex gloves disappeared as her body temperature spread to the synthetic fabric and she approached a hand from the opened flesh. A sound of repugnance rose on her left but she didn't pay attention to it and focused instead on the gaping hole by the throat. Blood was still running out of the large – mortal – wound, its heat contrasting with the absence of life that now surrounded the body.

"Essex Street, Boston Common and now Morton Street. What the hell? And what does he do with their heads?"

Jane's voice was a key higher than the usual. Her frustration melted into a cold anger and not hiding the slightest of her feelings to the media, she kept on pacing the place. She was fuming.

"Nothing tells us that it isn't a she."

The whisper had almost died in the wind but the strength of the insinuation had been such that Korsak, Frost and Jane stopped to stare at Maura without saying a word. Almost in disbelief. It wasn't that the suggestion was in itself crazy – especially since they hadn't found an ounce of DNA on the victims – but they hadn't really thought about it. The violence of the crime seemed to indicate that it could only come from a man.

"Autopsy at 8.30 tomorrow morning."

With self-confidence – one more time aware of the cams directed towards her and filming – she walked up the alley and passed under the yellow tape before heading to the van of the crime unit. Perhaps if the wind hadn't blown hard, her steps had been heard on time. Perhaps the two men would have put an end to their talk right away and she wouldn't have had a chance to catch bits of their conversation.

Perhaps.

Except it didn't happen.

"Isles? You'd do Isles? I didn't know you were into the dominatrix type. Anyway, I'm sure she's pretty much into women."

Something crumbled inside of her, something she couldn't name nor describe but which effects caused a whole wave of feelings to run through her veins before reaching her brain. To the surprise substituted an odd sentiment of embarrassment but instead of making a few steps backwards to pretend she hadn't overheard anything, she cleared her voice. Loudly.

"May I now sign the discharge?"

By the time she came back to the yellow tape, Jane and her colleagues had also left the dark bottom of the alley. Journalists now expected a few words from them; a brief speech. The Italian's features had deepened as an irrational remorse was eating her up. Maura shook her head.

"It isn't your fault, Jane."

The brunette offered a timid smile but didn't insist. She didn't want the media to overhear her feelings, what she thought about herself right now. With a false casualness that didn't fool anyone, she plunged her hands in the pockets of her jacket and bit the inside of her mouth to not shout out loud her evident frustration.

"Yeah we'll talk about that tomorrow, if you don't mind. Now I have a bunch of journalists to deal with and... And I gotta call Casey."

A car honked down the street, soon followed by a complain from the driver for not being allowed to take the direction he wanted. Curiously enough, the outburst saved Maura for reminding her that she hadn't passed out; that she was still alive. The reminiscence of their conversation by the Charles River the evening before was rushing to her mind and made her feel dizzy.

"Have you taken a decision regarding him?"

It was neither the place nor the right time to talk about it. They both knew it.

Jane burst out laughing. Her bitterness resounded loud and inappropriate. Atrociously painful. She was not fine but Maura couldn't help. Not yet. Not now. Never, maybe.

"You know what the worst part is? When I told you I didn't have the feeling to be in a relationship, I meant it. But to be honest... I am completely fine with it."

But before the scientist had a chance to add something, her friend had already turned on her heels to face the horde of journalists. Maura left, sliding on Jane's arm the ghost of a comforting hand.

Her drive home turned out to be uneventful and deprived of any thought. She passed the streets out of automatism without even seeing the buildings and it is only when the slam of the door echoed the odd silence of her house that Maura burst into cries. Alone, in the dark. She let go of her medical bag and within a second her knees hit the ground soon followed by her fists.

A whirl of overwhelming feelings seemed to have taken possession of her and she didn't understand the slightest thing. Why it hurt so much, why she felt so lonely. And disarmed. Angry against herself.

The last couple of nights had been sweet. A tender revolution of a world going on but as if she weren't allowed to be happy, everything had crashed all of a sudden. Taking Jane down in its whirl. A decadent movement, the downfall of a few feelings. Even the night seemed to have come back to its gloomy – a tad icy – shades. The temperatures had lowered and the wind was blowing again.

The tears were running down her face – embraced by her lips – before dying oppressively in the depths of her neck. She hated herself. For all the things she represented, for being unable to help her friend.

She knew Jane's torments. From the weight of that third victim to the storm of doubts inhabiting her concerning Casey. But Maura was failing. Instead of trying to help, she remained still and passive.

Completely disarmed.

Desperately in love. How come she couldn't reason herself once and for all? Nothing would happen. It was clear enough. She needed to turn the page and accept the facts. Jane offered her a friendship, it was more than what she could actually dream of having.

She should have been cherishing it instead of fantasizing ridiculously.

Her cell phone buzzed in her bag. Still plunged in the obscurity, Maura sat down and grabbed the item. But seeing Jane's name appear on the screen only increased the flow of her tears. The blue light slid on her face – her skin glimmering of an odd shade – when she opened the message.

"_I don't even want to talk to him."_

Her breath was rough and as she began to type a reply, she realized that her hands were shaking hard. She swept with the back of her sleeve another wave of tears. Her loneliness remained, though.

Just like her burning feelings.

"_Come over here."_

They wouldn't talk about Casey if only because they both hated doing so. Perhaps they wouldn't say a word at all and simply stayed in each other's arms until their dreams took them away for the rest of the night.

"_I'll be here in twenty minutes."_

With difficulty, Maura stood up and turned the lights on. Her silent pain vanished at the same time as darkness. She took a deep breath, abandoned her shoes on the floor. A smile made her lips ache. Like the sun after the storm – warming up the damp ground – life had wrapped her up of a nice embrace and she could start it all over again.


	9. Enchanting Anactoria

_**Author's note: thank you for having survived the angst of the last chapter... :)**_

**Chapter Nine – Enchanting Anactoria**

The first time she had pushed the doors of the club, Maura had let herself carried on by the singular atmosphere of the place. Its cozy interior design, intimate. Feminine. Against all expectations, she had felt fine right away between these walls and little by little her presence had gained in regularity to the point she was now a well-known member.

"Twice in a week?"

A disillusioned smile embraced her features – lighting them up of a fragile shade – as she grabbed her glass of wine and acknowledged Catherine Banks. She took her shoes off and folded her legs under her before looking at the lawyer.

"I didn't come for _that_."

Catherine focused on a group of young women sitting at the bar. Their pale skin seemed to glimmer of a monochrome of gold under the lights of the club. In the distance, their slender figures reminded of mythological creatures; mermaids luring in their nets the weak souls of men. Tantalizing beauty, enchanting voices.

"Too bad. It is surely the best place in town for such nocturnal pass time... What are you doing, here? There are many bars in Boston. One rarely passes the doors of this one to go back home alone."

Some people highly disliked the lawyer's bold attitude. They found it arrogant but Maura didn't mind. As a matter of fact, it entertained her. There would always be something about Catherine Banks. She was the kind of woman that you couldn't forget. No matter what. She didn't look like the other ones.

"It is peaceful, here. And safe. You have to be introduced by a member to know the place. It isn't the same outside. Who knows if I wouldn't end up making the headlines? I am in the middle of a delicate case. I am supposed to keep a low profile. Media are everywhere, especially by night."

Catherine Banks frowned. Her carefree attitude had been replaced by a honest worry. Her tongue slid on her red lips. She bent over, lowering her voice.

"Are you in troubles? Is someone blackmailing you?"

Maura shook immediately her head. She took a long sip of her wine then put the glass back on the table in front of her. Catherine's question had been relatively fair. She was quite influential – that she liked it or not – and the mere misdemeanor could have irremediable consequences on her job. Her reputation.

Her whole life.

At least she knew that behind the doors of the club, she could relax. Nobody would come to bother her nor start any blackmail if only because all the members actually feared the same.

"How was Bella? You could have sent me a thank you note."

A quiet laugh passed the scientist's lips. Her eyes looked for gray ones and for long seconds Maura had the feeling to stare at the reflection of someone who – behind a thick curtain of appearances – was lost in a loneliness even more painful than hers. But Catherine Banks was too proud to ever let the mask go and fall down. She had fallen in her own trap a long time ago and abdicated.

"Do you have a whole list or it was just a sample to show me what I am missing?"

The lawyer moved her head almost imperceptibly. On the other side of the room, a waitress nodded then walked to the bar to get her drink ready. Maura knew that Catherine came every single night. And every single night she left with someone. Out of despair, perhaps. Probably. She was one of those who feared the night the most when it fell over the city.

"Bella was nice... But she isn't your detective. It isn't a question, don't answer it."

A whiskey on the rock made it to their table. The lawyer politely nodded and mischievously winked at the employee before grabbing the glass to have a sip.

"You are a remarkable observer, Isles. Therefore your successful professional career. You spend hours looking at details, analyzing their shapes and the depth of their meanings. But you can't do that all the time. You can't spend the rest of your life watching how the world keeps on turning without you taking part in it. Being passive is the worst that can happen to someone. You will nourish an ocean of regrets afterward. And it will be too late..."

The obvious bitterness revealed more than what Catherine Banks had felt like sharing and troubled by her own implicit confessions, the lawyer took a deep breath before hiding her pain behind her whiskey. But it was soon gone. It never lasted. A smirk curled up her lips.

"Besides, I know for a fact that you aren't bad at all when you stop being passive for a while."

Maura ignored the allusion and nonchalantly grabbed the napkin brought along with her drink. The red letters – almost dark – contrasted sharply with the whiteness of the paper. Her fingers slid on the name of the club printed on it.

"_Even in Sardis... Anactoria will think often of us... Of the life we shared here, when you seemed... The Goddess incarnate... To her and your singing pleased her best.._"

Catherine Banks giggled and stared at Maura in disbelief. She was highly amused; her gray eyes lost in a glimmering light of genuine pleasure.

"You're quoting Sappho, now? You're getting gayer every time I see you, Isles."

The medical examiner stood up – slid her feet back in her stilettos – and took a last sip of her wine as the napkin landed in a silent waltz on the coffee table.

"_Anactoria. _I am not the one who chose the name of this club but it is surely quite appropriate. Have a nice evening, Cat'."

The rain was falling down quietly outside, embracing the asphalt to make it shine and echo the lights of the night. Under her umbrella and waiting for the valet to bring her back her car, Maura listened to the delicate rhythm of the drops hitting solid surfaces all around. The wind twirled up her legs, caressed her nape like a lover's hand. She closed her eyes and swept away the latent loneliness. Her Prius finally stopped and an elegant man stepped out of it.

She thanked him, swallowed hard at the contact of her fingers against the palm of his hand as she slid a bill of twenty dollars to tip him.

"Isles!"

Catherine Banks' voice resounded loud and made her stop. Surprised, Maura turned around and looked at the lawyer run to her with a scarf in hand.

"You're so much into your detective that you forget your accessories behind."

The piece of silk slid on her hand. Warmly. She nodded a quiet thanks to Catherine then looked down at her feet as dead-end hopes hit the air.

"Perhaps she is the exception that confirms the rule."

But even herself didn't believe it so she didn't insist and bent over to kiss the lawyer's on the cheek – at the corner of her mouth – before sitting back in her car and drive away. The relation she had built with Catherine Banks was singular, hard to properly define.

They weren't friends nor colleagues. Even less lovers. They had no feeling whatsoever for each other. Their rare encounters belonged to the past and had always been clear, bare. But they understood each other. Implicitly.

For carrying the same pain over an impossible love story.

Catherine had turned the page over hers when Maura desperately clutched to her very own one. She was unable to let go of it.

_Boston is the largest city of Massachusetts. It covers 48 square miles and has an estimated population of 636,000 making it the 21st largest city in the United States. The chance to come across a person you know in its streets is very low if not just reduced to almost none. Especially by night. _

So what were the chances that Jane would be passing by the club just when Maura was standing by her car accepting a scarf from Catherine Banks whom she would then kiss on the cheek with what could be considered as a rather obvious familiarity to say the least? None, probably.

Yet it happened, that night.

At 1.30 in the morning.


	10. Troubling Intangibles

_**Author's note: thank you very much for reviews.**_

**Chapter Ten – Troubling Intangibles **

The rain had taken possession of the city again like a curtain of diamonds falling on the asphalt, along the buildings to make them shine. Sat at the counter of her kitchen, Jane listened to the quiet rhythm of the downpour hitting against the windows of her apartment. As a matter of fact, she would have done anything to avoid Maura's eyes on her right now. The honey blonde was eating in silence - probably aware of Jane's discomfort nonetheless – but an inner politeness prevented her from asking questions.

All day long the brunette had avoided her friend as images of the night before had twirled in her head making no sense whatsoever. Why had Maura seen Catherine Banks? Why had she kissed her? It was somewhat sad but deep inside Jane felt upset and disappointed.

The relation she had with the honey blonde was the most intense one she had ever experienced with anyone. But something had crumbled. Just like that. And all of a sudden Jane had realized that she might not have known so well the person she couldn't even imagine her life without.

Cruel sentiment everything was a lure, that what she had taken for something strong – untouchable – owned actually the same fragility as a house of cards before the wind. Unless it was simply her fault and she hadn't done enough for Maura to think that she could be her confidante. Whatever it was, she didn't understand why the scientist seemed to lead a secret life. At no moment the blonde had let her assume that she was a friend of the lawyer. At absolutely no moment.

Did it have to do with the case? Or with another one? Unless it was something else, something completely different. And why meeting so late in the heart of the Financial district? Who was the valet that had brought back her car to Maura almost from nowhere?

"Maura..."

Except when the medical examiner looked up to lock her hazel eyes with her own ones, Jane swallowed hard and swept away with a gesture of the hand the question that was burning her lips. She couldn't do it. If Maura hadn't told her about Catherine then she must have had her reasons.

"Never mind."

An awkward smile embraced her lips in an attempt to reassure her friend. In vain. A heavy silence fell over the room and she focused back on the rhythm of the rain outside until a buzzing sound made them both turn around. Maura's cell phone had lit up on the coffee table. Without a word, the blonde went to pick it up but turned her back at her friend as soon as she read the name on the screen of the device. A wave of heat rushed up her cheeks. Her heart started beating fast.

"Is everything alright?"

The closeness of Jane's voice made her jump of surprise and drop her phone that landed loudly on the floor. Amused by the unexpected reaction, the Italian bent over to pick up the item but caught the name of Catherine Banks on the screen.

If everything froze in her head then Jane didn't show it. One more time, the weight of appearances hit her with strength. Was it what life was all about, in the end? Or just troubling intangibles. A bitter – bare – series of doubts. An endless one that left you lost and confused when you realized that a few facts weren't as you had imagined them to be.

"We're now texting influential lawyers at night?"

Her teasing tone seemed wrong, offbeat. She hadn't even meant to tease Maura but for whatever reason, the words had slid on her lips before she had had time to realize what she was doing. The rest followed. Her stubbornness, perhaps. A ridiculous pride.

The disappointment brought up by the scene of the previous night.

As Maura went to grab the phone, Jane made a step backwards; a playful smirk lighting up her features. She shook her head at her friend and scanned the room to prepare for her run. But instead of rushing to her, the scientist frowned; a veil of confusion embracing her features.

"Jane, give me back this phone. Don't be a child."

And then Maura gave in. The moment she rose her foot from the floor to make a step forward, Jan flew to the other side of the room in a whirl of laughter.

She didn't even know why she was doing that in the first place but an invisible relief invaded her as the blonde began to chase her. With the fluidity brought by years spent running after her brothers, Jane passed from the living-room to the kitchen; going straight ahead and changing of direction as soon as her friend got closer to her.

"You won't get me, Maur'!"

_Karma refers – among other things – to a conceptual principle that originated in India, often called the principle of karma and explains the present circumstances of an individual with reference to his or her actions in past. These actions may be those in a person's current life. A common theme to theories of karma is its principle of causality._

Just as her sentence hit the air, Jane tripped over her sport bag and fell on the couch. The weight of her friend's body soon prevented her from moving but she still hid the phone in her back, in a last attempt supposed to show that she wouldn't give in.

"What is going on with you?"

But Maura's seriousness died in a laughter as she bent over to pass her own hands in her friend's back to grab the item. Her fingers brushed the phone. Jane suddenly rose her arms but in a quick gesture the blonde finally managed to tighten her grip on the wrists. She pushed the Italian's arms behind her head – smiled – then froze as realization hit her.

The delicate position of their bodies.

Bent over Jane – straddling her – Maura let her feelings come back to the surface. She didn't have any hold over them, anyway. She knew their strength, her own vulnerability. And her sudden closeness to Jane's lips.

She almost missed the movement from her friend, the imperceptible touch of her knee against her own leg. A confusing invitation for more or a quiet plea to put an end to the current awkwardness? For once, Maura didn't analyze the slightest thing and succumbing to a game that seemed too easy, she captured Jane's lips in a breath.

The ghost of the kiss got wrapped up by reality and turned eager, more urging. As their tongues met for the first time, Jane's sigh died in Maura's gasp and the blonde released her grip on her friend's wrists to let her fingers travel down her arms in a gentle caress before cupping the Italian's face with a sweet authority.

The contact of Jane's hands in her back – running through her hair – made the scientist smile. Everything was perfect. Too much, perhaps.

Reluctantly enough, Maura let go of the brunette's lips – in need of air – but unable to take her distance with the olive skin, she began to trace a path of kisses down her neck; her throat. The touch was hot, burning. Prohibited. Her hand slid down to venture with boldness over Jane's shirt. An atrociously lustful gesture on her friend's curves.

And then Jane froze. Within a second as if the situation had finally hit her like a ton of bricks. She sat back up, pushed her friend away. A mock of utter confusion deepened her features.

Maura couldn't move. Sat on the edge of the couch, she kept on staring at the Italian while her brain had turned blank under the weight of embarrassment and pain. The next few seconds seemed to last an eternity – a cruel one – only broken down by the blaring sound of Jane's cell phone at some point.

With great confusion, the detective finally moved and bent over the coffee table to grab the device. Carefully avoiding Maura's gaze on her, she took the call; ran a hand through her hair.

"Rizzoli."

Her shaking voice vanished in a whisper, the statement sounding more like a question than anything.


	11. Awkwardness of Feelings

_**Author's note: thank you everyone and as I said to some in PM, Maura might not have to suffer much in the end so don't be worried (also I'm sure Jane enjoyed the kiss but simply freaked out).**_

**Chapter Eleven – Awkwardness of Feelings**

The blade caught the light of the large spots above her head and made her wince. For the thousandth time, she grabbed the scalpel and proceeded to clean it. If she didn't stop soon, the metal had chances to get eroded but she couldn't help it. She still saw the blood on it, and the weigh of guilt. Her guilt.

It wouldn't go away. As soon as the news of the murder of Catherine Banks had been confirmed, an odd and oppressive feeling had tightened its grip on her throat – her conscience – to never let her go.

The autopsy had been one of the most difficult ones she had ever had to face and yet for personal reasons that nobody knew about. She hadn't asked a colleague to be her substitute. Not only was she in charge of the case but such request would have probably risen questions at the BPD.

The medical chief examiner never gave into such pleas.

The rest of the day had been atrociously painful and quiet. Trapped in her net of secrets, Maura had let the hours pass by while doubts had mocked her in silence for the turn her life had suddenly taken. Not only had Catherine Banks been murdered by _Anactoria_ – their club – but the limits she had crossed the night before with Jane would now have irreversible consequences.

They hadn't talked about it. A fourth corpse in a case that started to make too much noise to the taste of the BPD had forced all the rest to be put aside. Bad timing and yet deep inside Maura felt relieved. She didn't want to talk about it. She was too scared. The eagerness she had put in the kiss had revealed way too many things, from her feelings to obvious experiences.

The doors flew open in a shrieking sound, breaking the nocturnal quietness of the morgue. The intrusion made her jump of surprise.

"I covered you."

For long seconds, the honey blonde wondered what had happened to the Italian's voice. It didn't sound hoarse anymore but weak and low; lacking self-confidence. Then she paid attention to the words and disarmed before the absence of logic coming from them, she shook her head at Jane. The brunette made a step forward.

"Catherine Banks. You were texting her, last night. You know what that means in a case. Yet I didn't say anything. I kept this piece of information for myself... But I need to know. I need to know why she had decided to send you a text message ten minutes before she was found dead."

Maura swallowed hard – put down her scalpel – and locked her eyes with her friend's. They hadn't had a moment for themselves since their kiss and the way Jane had pushed her back on the couch of her living-room. Something had frozen by then.

"It is personal but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the case."

Weak argument but she simply couldn't bring herself to say anything. All of a sudden, her private life – the one she needed to keep secret – had melted into her professional one and was threatening absolutely everything, from her job position to her friendship with the woman standing in front of her right now.

"Her cell phone was missing but you do realize that if we ever find it back, your name will be linked to it and you will turn to be the last person Catherine talked to before being killed? I... It's not against you, Maura. I... Need to know. Now."

The blonde shook her head – helplessly – and made a step backwards. Her breath had turned rough, she hadn't even noticed it. What was happening? Why now? Why her? She hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't a crime to be in love with someone. It wasn't a crime to hide it either.

"What is on Oliver Street? What was she doing in the heart of the Financial District? We didn't find her car nor her bag while she had her wallet on her. And cigarettes. It seemed like she had left a building to go for a smoke in the street. What is going on out there?"

Maura shrugged yet too unconvincingly. She couldn't lie and Jane knew it. But then there was the club, its rules. _Anactoria_ was a secret place. Nobody had to talk about it even less if related to a murder case.

Something had happened while Catherine was there. It didn't take long to see a correlation between the location of the lawyer's body and the address of the club. But it was probably an accident, a mere – yet awful – coincidence. _Anactoria_ was a safe place. Known in the high spheres, held like a big secret for a few members being too influential to ever be revealed.

"How would I know? I wasn't there myself."

The comment made Jane blush and Maura's semblance of confidence crumbled before such unexpected reaction. Why couldn't they just get a call and forget about everything? The case, the kiss, whatever had a hold on their respective minds. The Italian looked down and let a finger slide on the metallic table as if she were pondering a thousand thoughts.

"I saw you there two nights ago. In the street. There was a valet and your car had the engine on. Banks gave you a scarf. You kissed her on the cheek."

They burned. Rolling from her eyes in a heavy silence, the tears embraced her cheeks before tightening a grip on her neck; the corner of her lips. Unable to move – shaking – Maura burst into cries and fell in the abyss of a lonely despair that after years of fight had ended up winning over the rest.

"What..."

Jane made a step forward but the medical examiner stopped her with a gesture of the hand. Not now. A hug would make it worse. The mere touch would sign a demise Maura wanted to avoid at any price. If she still could, somehow. She had kissed Jane and let her desire for her show. Just like that. They could not pretend anymore. They could not go on as if nothing had happened. Because it was there and it hurt too much.

She hated the awkwardness of her feelings, all these details that, assembled to each other, made sense; a bit too cruelly. She was in love but she couldn't say it. Just as any kind of word over what had happened the night before didn't manage to pass her lips.

She was a coward when Jane was simply good at avoiding a few things.

"I hate it when you're scared of me."

The Italian's words hit the air, embraced by emotional doubts. Maura frowned. Confused. Jane wasn't mad but looked incredibly insecure. The bright lights of the morgue slid on her face of their pale shade, revealing hours of insomnia and endless wonders that had left scars on her features. This wasn't the loud and respected Jane Rizzoli but her fragile twin. Vulnerable and lost. The one who kept on twisting her hands and avoiding gazes for being too unsure of people's reactions.

It took Maura aback. Completely.

"_Anactoria._ This is what you are looking for. _Anactoria_..."

Her betrayal resounded low – almost inaudible – as the weight of defeat and humiliation crept in her mind.

She had done it for lacking courage. For being ridiculously in love with someone who seemed lost and hurt by her own silence. Everything would vanish, now. A page would get turned. But what she had just done would never be forgotten.

It had to come out, now. From the rules of the club to the kind of members that passed its doors at night and Boston suddenly adopted a whole different shade. Secretly exciting, sensual.

Quiet.

She wouldn't give anyone's identity away but who cared? The mere explanation would already be too much in itself. Too revealing. As she looked down – defeated – Maura's eyes stopped on her scalpels. The clean metal looked cold and sharp. Catherine Banks' blood engraved for the eternity in their depths. If only abstractly.

She felt responsible for her death.


	12. Symbiotic Serenade

_**Author's note: thank you all for the reviews!**_

**Chapter Twelve – Symbiotic Serenade **

The lights of the car disappeared in the fog as the valet drove away. Maura looked at the red shades becoming suave and invisible then grabbed Jane's hand. The sudden contact made the brunette turn her head. Without a word, she looked at the scientist and let her lead them inside the building.

She had insisted to go to the club. Out of curiosity. If Maura had refused at first, she had abdicated after a while; too tired of fighting against something that had made it under the spotlights, anyway. Jane had not said a word, not made a single critic. She had listened – peacefully – then simply decided to go and see. But Maura was terrified by the idea. Jane would judge her, from her activities to the fact it had remained untold until now. And it would be fair enough.

The hall was empty. Their stilettos resounded loud against the marble floor. Out of habit – bitterly for once – Maura turned on her left and stopped by a small elevator which doors opened immediately. The ride to the last floor seemed to last an eternity. Jane pulled on her dress. She wasn't feeling comfortable but as the honey blonde had advanced the fact that she needed to be dressed up, she had accepted with very few complains.

There was no specific dress code at _Anactoria_. It was implicit, like all the rest. The clients belonged to the high spheres of the Boston society. You couldn't show up there in a pair of worn out jeans.

The doors of the elevator opened to the long – dark red – corridor. The dimmed lights embraced their figures like a velvet black glove sliding along her skin. Jane frowned – obviously confused – as they finally stopped in front of a wall. But it suddenly slid to reveal what looked like a very hype lounge.

"There is a motion detector."

Their deal had been implicit. Maura would take her to the club and Jane wouldn't say anything to any of her colleagues. Considering the kind of place they were dealing with, if the BPD had got to know it, an upper hierarchy would have made close the murder cases to preserve _Anactoria_'s members from a scandal that would have emanated from it.

"What do you want to drink?"

Maura's voice was neutral – tired – and as she nonchalantly sat in an armchair, she motioned at the bar a bit further down the lounge. The place wasn't crowded – it never was – but well-known faces could be spotted all around nonetheless. Sharing a glass with a nocturnal acolyte while soft music played in the background. Jane looked around, casually but still in alert.

"What's behind the curtains that seem to float out there?"

Maura swallowed hard and moved nervously on her seat. She stared at her hands, studied the path of blue veins that her pale skin let easily show.

"Private rooms."

Separated by light veils in constant motion. Couches, bottles of champagne. Bodies molded into each other as sighs and caresses led the ballets of eager kisses. She didn't like going there herself. She wasn't much of an exhibitionist.

"Isles?"

The voice stole her breath. Maura looked up, stared – impassive – at Bella Hartman who was standing in front of her a drink in hand. The journalist cast a glance at Jane but didn't say a word. An invisible smirk curled up her lips and she focused back on the scientist. A veil of sadness had troubled her eyes. She frowned under an obvious pain.

"This place will never be the same now without Catherine. She was here when it happened. Yes, that's true. But she simply went down for a smoke... She hadn't received threats, nothing at all."

Jane noticed a young woman waiting for the journalist. She had remained quiet but a delicate smile slid on her lips as Bella Hartman finally joined her back before planting a kiss at the corner of her mouth. It didn't pass unnoticed to Maura either who preferred to cowardly hide herself behind her Martini.

And now what? What were they supposed to do? What were they supposed to say? A casual talk was incongruous and Jane had promised that she wouldn't let people think that her presence was caused by the murder of Banks. Would they ever be able to find back the fluidity of their original relation after that night, anyway? Since they had kissed, everything had fallen down then exploded in pieces.

They finished their drinks in silence. Jane didn't go to check the private rooms. Without a word and just as she had arrived, she followed back Maura outside the building and let the scientist take them back to her Beacon Hill house. Jo Friday was there and she wanted to change, take off this dress that had made her so uncomfortable.

"Catherine and I were alike... Somehow... We understood each other yet without talking much. She was not... She was not the image people had of her."

The light turned green again and Maura drove away, entering a very quiet Joy Street. The neighbor was calm by night. Plunged in the dark. Jane remained quiet as if pondering the blonde's confession. Would she ever say something? Would she ever ask questions?

Why Maura had never told her about all of this. Why she had kept for herself the fact that she at times shared her nights with other women.

But instead she remained quiet and didn't look judgmental at all. An odd calmness seemed to have wrapped her up unless she was simply lost in an ocean of doubts and endless thoughts. They passed the door of the house in silence. Maura made a few steps but turned around. Clutched to her purse, she locked her eyes into the Italian's dark ones in a silent plea.

Their symbiotic serenade was gone. The appealing melody that had carried them until now on a path quite singular yet irresistible. They couldn't come backwards, couldn't erase the last few nights. But they had a hard time going ahead as well, as if they were stuck in a dead-end.

The silence was actually worse than words. Against all expectations, Maura wanted a reaction from her friend. Fair enough, after all. Jane must have had a thousand questions. Unless she had the capacity to simply go on and accept everything. To understand it all.

The brunette ran a hand through her hair – sighed loudly – then rolled her eyes. She shook her head as a bitter smile played on her lips in quiet apologies. The house was plunged in the dark except for the light of the lobby. The furniture looked like ghosts; static ones. As if the world had stopped. Without a word, she turned around and grabbed the door knob to leave but as quickly as she had taken such decision, a moan of frustration escaped from her lips and within a second she closed the distance that separated her from Maura to grab the blonde by the waist; pin her against the wall.

The kiss was desperate. Eager and rough. Deep. Passionate. Unexpected and incomprehensible.

Her lips never really left Maura's. Their breaths melting in one, the words hit the air and echoed in the ghost of a caress against the scientist's mouth. A disarmed whisper. A confused one.

"I love you."

Maura took her time, let the confession pass underneath her skin as Jane repeating it over and over like a lullaby of some sort. A dizzy one. Clutched to the Italian's neck, she tried to sweep away the tears in her eyes. It was too surreal for not being painful. Too far from a reality she had recognized as hers such a long time ago. She was tired of cruel dreams. Tired of believing in fantasies.

But Jane stifled her insecurities – stole them away – as she resumed their kiss; their symbiotic serenade that for once found a favorable echo in their lonely night.

_It is a subtle cocktail of hormones, of delicate doses. Serotonin lowers while adrenalin and cortisol reach their peak. Dopamine stirs up the addiction that emanates from your partner while your heart beats faster, responding to epinephrine. Oxytocin settles in your body and there you are. _

_In love._


	13. Mysterious Styx

_**Author's note: thank you for the reviews, they are really much appreciated.**_

**Chapter Thirteen – Mysterious Styx**

_Who really is the Chief medical examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts?_

The title didn't stir up any feeling whatsoever. Sat at her desk in her office, Maura kept on staring at the words rather blankly. The time when an ounce of excitement ran through her veins for an article having her name in it was long gone except – maybe – for that tiny apprehension that the journalist might reveal a couple of facts she judged as personal ones. It could happen, one day.

_Dr. Isles is a woman of shadows. Her presence at a crime scene is as expected as homicide detectives but you rarely see her. You don't focus on her. Moving like a ghost – quietly – in the background, she has this capacity to make you forget until her existence. She chose the darkness and seems to navigate on the Styx deprived of any feeling as if she had lost connection a long time ago with our world and had found relief – comprehension – among the dead. _

_She talks to them, touches them and faces death with a disturbing easiness. Her resume is impressive but what do we know about her, exactly? Nothing. Outside the BPD – outside the morgue and the numerous crime scenes – she vanishes behind a thick fog only to reappear when a heart has ceased to beat. She has lost herself in mystery, involuntarily or not._

Her fingers slid on the mug of tea and the very hot contact made her jump, remembering her that she was still alive. She took a sip of the beverage and closed her eyes.

The night would be long. Her shift had just started but the quietness of the building didn't seem comforting for once. Just too empty. She felt like talking, laughing and moving around.

Living.

Everything had changed and yet it all remained the same. Same routine, same cases, same roads to take to go to work in the morning. But it was drastically different. The shades were brighter and owned that strength that only novelty can bring. Its sweet timidity as well.

She had spent the night with Jane, had awoken in her arms. It hadn't sounded true but fair. Deprived of words. They didn't need to speak to understand each other and blinded by their new intimacy, caresses and kisses had replaced any sentence that could have been. It had very few to do with the fantasies she had had at some point. What she was living now was a lot more powerful.

Unfortunately reality had caught them back and their different schedules as well. Maura had spent the day on the Cambridge campus for lectures while Jane had gone to the public library for some research and now the Italian was back home while the scientist had just made it to her office for a long night shift.

A pile of reports had accumulated on her desk. She needed to review them, give her agreement to some requests and maybe – if she had enough time – try to find the mere detail that might help in the serial killer case. If only for Catherine Banks. Oddly enough, Boston had turned quiet before the news. Too much to Maura's taste.

_I like to think that in private, Dr. Isles is a completely different person. That she is joyful, funny and full of life. I like the idea of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde side of her. If you have ever had the chance to talk to her – to interview her – you can see how quirky she is in spite of her stubbornness and determination. She is a perfectionist and like any of them, she must feel judged at times. And lonely. _

_I suppose it is the reason why she embraced such a singular career. The dead are nice to her. They don't judge her. I can't help thinking that she has been disappointed in the living world too many times already. And yet, wouldn't it be extraordinary to find out that the most famous Styx traveler is actually one of the most full of life person you will ever find on Earth? _

_I like the ambiguity. I like her mystery. Yet I wouldn't mind her to leave the shadows and darkness behind to finally show a warmer side._

Troubled, Maura skipped the rest of the article but couldn't find the name of the columnist. It was quite a strange portrait – close to reality – but its context didn't make much sense. Why did the media feel the sudden urge to talk about her in such personal terms? Why focusing on her? Until then, newspapers and televisions had stuck to the cases themselves. What did her personality have to do with the murders of these four women?

"Dr. Isles?"

The delicate voice took her out of her wonders. She looked up at the intern and smiled at her. The girl was young but nice and determined. Ambitious enough for Maura to appreciate her presence around.

"I am done with the stitches."

The medical examiner nodded and stood up to follow her student to the autopsy room. As much as the girl hadn't seemed bothered, it was her first night shift and Maura knew how difficult it was if only emotionally. Not only could they be called at any moment but the darkness was propitious to doubts, a thousand insecurities that wrapped you up with vulnerability.

Latex gloves on, she leaned over the corpse and examined the stitches closely – passed a finger over them – and finally nodded.

"You did a good job. I know some of my colleagues don't see the point but personally, I think it is only respectful towards the person laid here to not treat him or her like a piece of meat. They might be dead, they are still..."

Her cell phone buzzed – the vibrations resounding loud – while her words died in a whisper. A smile curled up her lips when she saw who had sent the message.

They hadn't even had time to share the mere conversation, today. Some people would have said that they were workaholics but Maura tended to think that they simply cared and threw themselves entirely in the cases that landed in their hands because it was how it had to be.

_I called Casey. I should have done that a long time ago already._

_Wish I could be with you, tonight. _

_All the time._

_Jane_

Everything was new and made her feel dizzy. She would have never imagined that Jane would handle the changes so easily, so quickly. Of course, the Italian's latent timidity over their relation was there but she seemed to have found a strength to accept it, to come to peace with it at a vertiginous pace.

They needed to talk about a thousand things – she, Maura, felt the urge to explain herself over a whole series of details – and little by little, they would go on. Towards what? She didn't know it herself. All she owned was an ocean of hopes and the irrepressible desire to be with Jane. To love her. She was too tired of hiding.

"Is there something else I can do, now?"

Maura smiled warmly at the student and scanned the room. It was very calm and apart from all these administrative tasks that were waiting for her, the night shift seemed to own the shapes of one of these uneventful ones.

She shrugged - vaguely sorry for the young girl - while bits of the article came back to her mind - twirled around - making her purse her lips as if she were pondering her next words.

"Would you like some tea?"

Yes. Maura Isles was mysterious – quiet – and a bit odd. Many people didn't understand her when others found her appealing, to an extent - perhaps because of the singular relation she had built with the dead - but the truth was that she was alive and had feelings. The night weighed on her like it did for everybody. She kept on existing and breathing once she passed the doors of the BPD.

She wasn't dead yet. On the contrary.

Especially since the night before. She might have been traveling on the Styx – mysteriously or not – a strong connection kept her linked to a warmer side of her existence. And she felt like talking, tonight. Because she was happy. Plainly. Simply.


	14. Secret Self-Sufficiency

_**Author's note: thank you everyone; here comes a sweet chapter before a darker one**_

**Chapter Fourteen – Secret Self-Sufficiency**

Absentmindedly, Maura followed the drop sliding along the window; the path it traced before dying against the brick wall, absorbed by the material. And like an endless circle, the rain abandoned another one of its diamonds to perpetrate the quiet sight of its nocturnal waltz. It was hypnotizing, soothing. As delicate as a stolen caress.

"May I kiss you?"

The words melted softly in the air and made her smile. She nodded – closed her eyes – and waited for the touch she had cruelly missed for the past two days. Life had acted strangely with them, allowing a night in each other's arms before putting in their way a dozen of obstacles to their new intimacy.

"I love you."

She barely noticed the waitress bringing their drinks, barely acknowledged the act in itself. She was lost in a dream, a hypnotizing reality. The flame of the small candle executed a dance that echoed on Jane's face, lighting up her features of a warm – friendly – shade. They were sufficient to each other. Sat at the table of the South End restaurant, Maura was succumbing to the idea just as she was getting lost in the brunette's dark eyes; the timid smile that played on her lips.

She had forgotten the awkward timing of the past forty-eight hours as soon as they had left the BPD to walk a few streets away down the trendy neighborhood. The evening was theirs, the night as well.

Hopefully.

And then the kiss. At last. In public in spite of the dimmed lights of the Italian restaurant. Jane wasn't known to be expansive. Her sudden boldness seemed out of character but perfect; and honest.

"The only lead we have and that yet isn't one in itself is the victims' sexual orientation. We can discard the club because only Catherine Banks was an active member yet I don't think her death has anything... Accidental. She didn't find herself at the wrong place at the wrong moment."

The voluptuousness of the wine embraced Maura's throat but the statement took her aback and curious – uncertain – she rose a perplexed eyebrow at Jane.

"This is what you want to talk about?"

Her question sounded awkward; deprived of disappointment but full of surprise. Maura smiled – shyly – as if to accompany her words of a softer note. She had assumed that it was time for her to talk openly about her past, these nocturnal activities she had kept for herself until now. It was fair enough to make things clear – to sweep away her silence – to give chances to the new turn their relation had taken. But Jane had apparently other priorities.

The brunette passed her tongue over her lips and made her beer twirl in her glass. She shrugged with a perfect calmness, the same one that embraced her smile.

"I don't need you to explain your silence. I understand it. As for the rest, I don't know... It made sense. It just clicked in my head and all of a sudden everything seemed fair, logical. It's you. I love you."

Jane's direct attitude matched her temper but not the easiness with which she expressed her feelings. It had never been like that with Casey or any of the people she had dated. But the context was different – a lot more logical – and the embarrassment that had inhabited her once had been defeated by this self-confidence glorifying now the lightness of her features.

_Anactoria_ had changed everything. From the night Maura had dared to talk about it to the moment they had gone to it. A light had been flickered in Jane's head and in a storm of feelings, she had left behind a whirl of doubts she had had such a hard time to see through.

"Everything doesn't have to be said explicitly to be understood."

The honey blonde tilted her head on a side – passed her arm by the red plastic cup of the candle, feeling the heat of the flame brush her skin – and squeezed Jane's hand tightly. These fingers she knew by heart already; the scars the detective had a tough time dealing with. The untold reason of her insomnia. They would go through it, together. They would go through everything.

"Although you do know I lack experience in all of this, right?"

A light laugh passed the scientist's lips. She made a face – rolled her eyes – and rubbed her neck in an implicit gesture of apologies as Jane kept on motioning abstractly at an invisible space in front of her supposed to let Maura understand what she was talking about. She had never dated women, not even kissed one before the whirl of events of the past few days.

"I'm afraid I am not an expert in relationships myself."

The brunette sighed loudly and pouted in a theatrical manner before starting to play with the candle set between the two of them. She felt fine. For the very first time in a long while, her life made sense and she knew that it was thanks to Maura. It had hit her like a ton of bricks but the logic was such that she couldn't be scared of anything. Except losing the woman sat in front of her, perhaps. She preferred to not think about it.

"Then we will be two clumsy idiots trying desperately to get something out of this."

Long after they would have left the restaurant and driven back to Jane's place – long after they would have let their caresses take them to the intimacy of the bedroom – Maura would keep on sliding a finger on the brunette's naked shoulder. Like a quiet lullaby to make sure that her sleep would be calm, serene.

They wouldn't speak but remain in each other's arms listening to the rain hitting the windows hard; and the wind blowing, humming an odd song that would get engraved in their minds as the memory of one of these unforgettable nights only lovers shared. Secretly. Giving to their bond the unique taste of that powerful sentiment of self-sufficiency.

They had never needed a third party to feel alive and strong. As long as they had each other, both knew that – no matter what happened – their life would make sense and be worth it. So worth it.

"You should be sleeping."

The rustle of the sheet followed Jane's movement – covered her hoarse voice – as she tightened her grip on the scientist and settled in the crook of her neck. Her breath – regular and calm – slid on Maura's flesh by pleasant waves before sending shivers down her spine, wrapping her up of a lovely embrace. The blonde planted a kiss on top of her partner's head, stared at the ceiling.

The lights of the street were sending shadows – long, abstract ones – against the white paint plunged in the dark. Like a quiet story a mother would tell her child before he or she went to sleep. Maura took a deep breath, bit her lower lip.

"I am not tired. I want to stay awake to enjoy every second."

And think about Catherine. Her death haunted the medical examiner's head, fragments of all the talks they had shared coming back to her mind. All the warnings, the despair and bitterness of what they had both assumed to be impossible. If the lawyer were still alive, she would have seen how Maura's life had tipped over without any warning. How somehow – following an incongruous logic – her fantasies had crept into reality and there she was, now.

Overwhelmed by what she had taken once for cruel illusions.

Why had she got it and not Catherine? What had the lawyer's existence been stolen when hers had just started? The parallelism of the events of that night were frightening. While she was crossing the lines with Jane, Catherine Banks had stopped breathing.

"Promise me it won't be a cold case."

The plea bumped into a harsh despair, hit the air with honesty. If it took Jane aback then she didn't show the slightest thing; barely moved in bed. Long seconds passed by before her voice resounded loudly in the room; breaking the silence of the night.

"I won't let it be."


	15. Anonymous Trickery

_**Author's note: thank you very much for the reviews; here comes the "darker" chapter but yes, I do promise a happy Rizzles ending (I am unable to write something else, anyway) so no worries ;)**_

**Chapter Fifteen – Anonymous Trickery**

She turned the water off and let drops slide along her pale skin before stepping out of the shower. The heat had had a relaxing effect on her tense muscles but she was still exhausted. If she hadn't had the slightest doubt about the contrast between the weekend spent with Jane and their return to the BPD, Maura hadn't assumed either that it would include a fatal car crash on the Turnpike by Copley Square.

As the corpses hadn't stopped arriving to the morgue, she had spent most of the day up on her feet; bent over metallic tables, scissors and scalpels in hand. Her back hurt, now. As well as her legs. She did love her job but she wasn't made for such events. It was too much in one go. She preferred the delicacy of a murder case and all the process of analysis that it took.

Nothing close to an assembly-line kind of work.

The satin of the bathrobe embraced her skin of a soft caress and – reluctantly – she left the over-heated bathroom for more regular temperatures. Barefoot, she walked down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

Wagner was playing in the background; accompanying her night and the memories of the last two days spent with Jane.

Everything was new and light. Perfect. It simply worked out as if following an old logic of some sort, a singular harmony between their respective minds and bodies. There was a still a series of questions that required answers – endless what-ifs – but for the moment, Maura wanted to fully enjoy the time being.

It hadn't even been a week. They had all the time in the world to handle what being in a relationship did mean. There was no rush. No rush at all.

Perhaps if she hadn't turned around, she would have missed it. She would have watched television then read a couple of medical articles before headed to bed without noticing the slightest thing. A thousand scenarios - endless possibilities – finally reduced to one: the most harrowing.

At first she simply assumed that it had escaped from the files she had taken back home with her and in a perfect silence had landed on the floor by the door. But as she approached the lobby, her heart began to beat faster. She didn't recognize the envelope, didn't recognize the paper.

It wasn't one used at the morgue.

All of a sudden, Maura felt lonely and vulnerable. The house turned too big, the music oppressive. That was the reason why she hated following her instinct. It never worked out positively. She squatted down and grabbed the envelope with a shaking hand; turned it upside down. It was nameless. A sound in her back made her jump. Hand on her heart, she turned around and rolled her eyes as she noticed Bass by the kitchen island. The tortoise had probably bumped into one of the stools.

An icy feeling ran through her veins – soon replaced by nausea – as her eyes stopped on the paper sheet she had taken out of the envelope. Every single word – every single character – got painfully engraved in her mind, branded in her flesh.

A stifled bang resounded above her head, on the first floor. She looked up at the ceiling – paralyzed by fear – and swallowed back a scream.

…

Jane reappeared in the stairs. Without her gun. She shook her head and approached Maura who hadn't moved an inch since the brunette had arrived. Her back pinned against the wall next to the front door, the medical examiner had waited for long – atrocious – minutes while the envelope she had abandoned on the kitchen island seemed to mock her from the distance.

"There's nothing, nobody. No sign of breaking in. He or she probably slid the message under your door while you were upstairs."

Maura nodded quietly. As much as she tried to control her nerves, she kept on shaking. She wasn't fine, didn't feel safe at all. Even in her own house. She had rarely experienced a worse feeling. Jane grabbed her by the arm – with care – and led her to the kitchen.

They needed to talk. She had to look at the sheet of paper again and face the words, the message. And the picture. The characters badly cut and glued to form a sentence once assembled together. If she had had to give her opinion, she would have said that it looked more like a poor imitation of what one used to see in movies than anything else. A cliched that nonetheless sounded like threat or blackmail.

"There are my fingerprints on it. The mere analysis is pointless."

She accepted the mug of coffee and let a pale smile play on her lips as Jane squeezed her hand in a vain attempt to comfort her. Of course the detective had been the first person she had wanted to call, to see. But also the only one who could actually come and face the contents of the envelope. Nobody else had to know. Not like that, not yet.

"I know what you're thinking, Maur', but maybe it has nothing to do with the case and... It's just stupid, harmless blackmail."

But the Italian's voice lacked conviction for her statement to sound believable. Had Catherine Banks received such message as well? Maura swallowed hard as she remembered the lawyer looking worried the last time they had seen each other; worried that the honey blonde could have been in troubles. Was it a mere coincidence? Her hazel eyes stopped on the sheet paper and – impassive – Maura stared at it.

_I know what you're doing_

_You have to be punished_

The picture had been taken in front of her house the night Bella Hartman had stopped by. The woman was on the shot as well, her back turned at the photographer.

It was unfair. The minutes were passing by and Maura's original fear was slowly melting into anger. A deep, cold one. They couldn't talk about it to the BPD or else her private life would be revealed, along with Jane's probably. Yet could they take it lightly? She doubted so, didn't want to.

"I am the next one on the list, aren't I?"

Her bitter laugh died in a wave of tears that she immediately swallowed back. Closing her eyes, she let her face disappear behind the palms of her hands. She shook her head, defeated. Just when life seemed to have adopted brighter shades, everything was breaking into pieces again.

"You won't be."

She wanted to believe that it had nothing to do with the mysterious murder case but the coincidences were such that everything seemed to lead to it and nothing else. What had she done, exactly? Had she provoked someone?

Her personal life revealed in newspapers was one thing but the possibility of ending up on an autopsy table with her head missing was another one.

"I don't want to stay here. I don't want..."

And how would she explain it? How would she explain to Angela why she didn't want to come back to Beacon Hill every night? How would she explain her sudden coldness to the BPD? Did she even stand a chance to actually go on and pretend that everything was alright?

"Even if it isn't related... It had to happen, I suppose. That's what we get for lying. By omission maybe but still... I should have known that at some point, it would all come back to me."

She had got critics – harsh words and complains – in newspapers. She knew that everyone didn't like the idea she represented. Very often her testimony had weighing in the conviction of a third party at a trial. Somehow it seemed logical but a threat remained a threat and she didn't know how to deal with it.

"What you do outside the BPD is nobody's business but yours, Maura. You don't have to feel the urge to justify yourself. Someone wants to blackmail you? Honestly, this picture is rather harmless, don't you think so?"

But not the rest. It was too complex.

For the hundredth time her eyes stopped on the message but out of frustration, she pushed the sheet of paper away. She was tired.


	16. Subtle Tangent

_**Author's note: thank you everyone and really, don't be worried, the ending will really be a happy one; let's take Maura's threat as a little twist.**_

**Chapter Sixteen – Subtle Tangent**

A couple of jugglers passed in zigzag through the crowd – up on unicycles – while a brass band was playing down the street echoing the laughter of children focused on a dozen of clowns walking like penguins by Louisburg Square. The night had fallen over the city but the turmoil of big days seemed to have won the fight and Beacon Hill had never looked so alive. So joyful.

A heavy contrast with the gloomy shade of the previous day.

Uneventful, though. Maura hadn't received any other message but the ghost of the threat hadn't left her a single minute. She had thought about it over and over; tried to find the detail that would give sense to the whole thing. It couldn't come from Bella Hartman herself for the journalist being in pretty much the same situation as the scientist. Another media? Or worse, the anonymous killer who chopped off heads with a French 16th century sword?

The weapon was far from being common but just like for the rest, the ounce of lead they had assumed to have as the analysis of the blade had been confirmed had vanished away after bumping into the wall of a dead-end alley. From museums to societies – European weapon specialists – nothing had showed up but the delicate conclusion that the sword had been bought illegally.

"Machine-spun cotton candy was invented in 1897 by the dentist William Morrison and confectioner John Wharton introduced it to a wide audience at the 1904 World's Fair. Do you want some?"

Stick in hand, Maura held it out to Jane. She wanted to have fun and feel light for the rest of the night as if nothing had happened. The Beacon Hill local fair was the perfect place for her to put aside all the rest if only for a few hours. A subtle tangent of some sort, a deluded hope over the fact that – perhaps – the events of the previous night had only been the result of a bad dream.

Jane grabbed some, smiled as she felt the blonde's arm slide on her waist protectively.

It wasn't that Maura was behaving completely out of character but her joyful attitude still betrayed the latent fear the blackmail had stirred up. And it hurt to see her disarmed. It hurt to not be able to do a lot either.

As they stopped by a fairground target game, Jane focused blankly on the cans and prepared her words. As much as she understood the medical examiner's forced happiness, she knew that she couldn't just pretend. They had to talk. They needed a plan.

"Maybe we should just say it and pull the carpet from your blackmailer's feet. Obviously he... Or she... Wants nothing but to make _that_ clear."

The change in Maura's smile turned to be almost imperceptible – her lips slightly shaking for a second – as she squinted her hazel eyes at the game right in front of her. A ten-year-old little boy was throwing the ball under his father's advices but his lack of precision didn't bring down anything.

The breeze caressed her nape, made her shiver.

"No."

Of all the scenarios Jane had imagined, a determined negation from the honey blonde – sharp, incisive – was one she hadn't thought about but her perplexity vanished as soon as Maura locked her eyes with hers and crossed her arms on her chest. An odd calmness seemed to have taken possession of her. As if she weren't scared anymore but unexpectedly confident.

"I refuse to play this person's game. I won't give in. It isn't shame but fairness. Nobody should decide anything regarding my private life but me. I hold your hand in the street, I kiss you in public. I am all fine with it. But I will never abdicate before such kind of pressure. There is no way I please whoever tries to blackmail me. And I am sorry for having taken you in all of this. You haven't asked for it... I am beyond happy to be with you but it has only been five days and in all fairness, I guess we should have the right to enjoy more time to ourselves before letting the people we care about know."

The sweet smell of cotton candy contrasted strangely with the bitterness of their conversation; just like the music and the laughter in the background. They had locked themselves in a gloomy bubble, echo of years spent on crime scenes. The world owned a different shade when you used to see the darkest face of men.

"And I don't care if this person outs me. Nobody should care, in the end. It doesn't change anything to the autopsies I lead nor to the testimonies I give when I am asked for a professional opinion on a case. But I nonetheless refuse to give in and make some sort of statement because someone would try to force me into it... And if this person's goal were different... You are all the time with me except at the morgue. We work at a safe place. Try to enter the BPD with a sword."

Jane made a face and looked by Maura's shoulder. They had been holding hands all along the evening. In the middle of the crowd. Everybody had seen them, they weren't hiding. What if someone had taken a picture and they would make the headlines the next morning?

What if she received herself the same kind of message?

"Do you remember the time you told me that you were tired of being afraid?"

The question took her aback but she nonetheless nodded at Maura. The crowd had turned uninviting all of a sudden and every single face looked like a potential threat. She swallowed hard, pushed away that latent paranoia.

"Well I feel the same, Jane. I am opened to my feelings, to you. Yet nobody will win this game of cat and mouse but me. This is where the person who sent me the message got it wrong. I am not afraid to reveal who I am nor whom I date. I just think it is nobody's business but mine. They won't crush me down, they won't intimidate me. Won't silent me... I am not dead yet... On the contrary. And the only thing I am sure of is that I want to keep on showing that I am alive; quite a lot more than what people can think."

Jane's lips tasted of cotton candy – suave, comforting – and leading the kiss, Maura abandoned herself fully to the embrace. There, right in the middle of her neighborhood fair.

Multicolored tinsels and old paper lanterns were wrapping up the streets of warm shades; colorful ones, joyful. And her body molded against the Italian's, Maura wasn't scared.

Her discretion over her private life was a decision that had imposed itself a long time ago. The club and the silence over it – the veil covering her nocturnal activities – had only been the result of a series of a few unexpected feelings. She had fallen in love with Jane and the words had stayed trapped on the edge of her lips. The cruel passing of time had done the rest.

Until a few days ago.

They resumed their walk in silence. Hand in hand. Nourishing themselves of each other's heat, of that quiet energy that emanated from their respective bodies. Perhaps the brass band played a music a bit stain, now and the clowns didn't find an echo on their smiles. But still, they were alive and at the start of something that the honey blonde had a hard time to believe.

"I am starving. Let's stop by the open-air cafe. They have some delicious homemade pies."

Maura smiled. Brightly. Her features melted into an irrepressible desire of life as the usual veil of darkness that had ended up weighing on her mysteriously suddenly disappeared.

Easily. Quietly.

Many people ignored it yet what qualified the most The Queen of Dead wasn't her blurry aura but an incredible strength that burnt in her heart. She wasn't vulnerable at all. Not when she had decided the opposite.


	17. Elaborate Rhetoric

_**Author's note: thank you for all the reviews...**_

**Chapter Seventeen – Elaborate Rhetoric**

Nothing troubled the cold silence of the morgue but the regular sound of water drops escaping from the tap, landing almost loudly against the metallic edge of the sink. Focused on her reflection in one of the mirrors, Maura frowned; studied her features. She looked old and tired. Even a smile didn't change the slightest thing. For the first time in a long while, the events had caught her back and she had a hard time dealing with them properly.

Her sigh echoed against the walls. She adjusted her dress – checked her blazer – then stepped out of the bathroom before walking down the corridor that led to the elevators.

She had arrived at 5.30am, almost sixteen hours earlier and the stress of the day had begun to weigh on her. Yet she wasn't about to go home nor to find back Jane's comforting embrace in the anonymity of an untold premise of a relationship. The most complicated still had to come.

As the doors of the elevator opened, the cacophony and the turmoil of press conferences took her aback for it contrasting with the quietness of the basement being sharp. People were coming and going in a huge frenzy while media of all sorts – coffee in hand – went to take a seat or settle their equipment to be live on television as soon as it would start. Dark curls appeared in her angle of view, on the left. Without an ounce of hesitation, she closed the distance that separated her from Jane then addressed her a shy smile.

At times she wondered if people had noticed something, the change of status in their relationship. From a gaze or a mere gesture, Maura had surprised herself thinking about officers and lab technicians. Had they guessed that Jane and her slept together? Did they know that for the last five days they hadn't spent a night without each other?

"You don't have notes. How do you do that? Your self-control will always impress me, Maura."

Her nervousness made no doubt but she handled it quite well. Just like for a trial, the honey blonde did not fear the questions of the crowd; even less their insistent gazes on her. As soon as she stepped up on the small stage, her subconscious built a shield between strangers and her in a protective attempt.

She wasn't scared of remarks. On the contrary. As soon as one came up, a smirk curled up her lips and brought extra motivation to her mind to formulate an answer she hoped incisive enough.

"Cavanaugh wants us up there with him as he will start talking. Then it's me and finally your turn. You didn't bring any picture, did you? The less leaks, the better."

She nodded and turned down the coffee that an officer offered her. It was strange to see how her status reappeared when most of the time she passed completely unnoticed to the majority. Within a minute, they remembered her responsibilities and the latent fear she imposed spread back in a perfect silence.

She liked it. At least by then, she knew that she was respected. Working in a male environment wasn't easy. Sean Cavanaugh came in, nodded at her.

"Dr. Isles..."

End of rehearsals. It was now show time.

A brouhaha of stifled voices welcomed them as they stepped on stage and religiously stood there. Frost had caught them back at the last second and was now by Jane. The flashes of the photographers started crackling and with her legendary equanimity, Maura looked straight in front of her. Bella Hartman was there, casually sat on one of the chairs. Had she received a threatening message as well?

With a singular meticulousness and while Cavanaugh began his speech, Maura observed the crowd of journalists. She had never considered them as potential threats but as electrons that gravitated around, at times too freely. Jane straightened up on her right. She cast a furtive glance at her but focused back on their audience immediately. Most of them had been at the crime scene earlier in the morning. They knew that a fifth body had been found. They knew what it meant.

The autopsy hadn't revealed much, just like on the previous victims. Same _modus operandi_, exact same weapon. She had observed the traces left by the blade so many times that they were now engraved there in her mind. She didn't even need to close her eyes to picture them out. They were clear in her brain. A bit too sharp.

"Are you alright? You're shaking..."

Jane's murmur took her out of her reverie. Perplexed, she looked down at her hands, frowned. She had not even realized that her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Her absence of immediate reply did not have a positive effect on the Italian who frankly turned around to stare at her this time.

"Maura?"

Jane's hand on her wrist almost hurt – squeezing tightly her bones – as the brunette's hoarse voice got an octave louder. Maura looked up and locked her eyes with her partner's. She nodded yet too weakly to the detective's taste. A constant buzzing made the blonde feel dizzy, and hot. She couldn't listen to Cavanaugh's speech anymore. The words didn't reach her.

The room turned dark and all of a sudden Maura had the feeling that she was floating. Lightly. All the sentences she had prepared in her head – an elaborate work of rhetoric – were being shouted out loud by a voice she could not recognize. Then Jane, somewhere in the background. Calling her name frankly.

…

"Maura Dorthea Isles, you scared me to death!"

The blonde opened her eyes only to see Jane bent over her, her features deepened by a sincere anger. As she tried to sit up, two hands on her arms prevented her from doing so. The room started spinning, fast. She didn't insist and remained laid on her back. A bright neon light was blinding her. She made a face.

"Are you okay? Hey, can you hear me? Maur'? Damn, where's that freaking ambulance? What is it that it's taking them so long? We need them here!"

Jane was hysterical. Panicked. Her voice had suddenly adopted a high-pitched tone while her cold hand kept on caressing Maura's cheek with regularity. The scientist – exhausted – closed back her eyes. She didn't understand much what was happening. Wrapped in cotton, she enjoyed Jane's breath sliding on a tiny bit of skin by her neck. It was warm, comforting.

"Maura, talk to me. Please... Honey, say something... She isn't moving, this ain't normal. She's too pale. Where are the EMT guys, for Christ's sake?"

In a considerable effort that burnt her lungs, Maura took a deep breath and tried to formulate an answer. She felt weak. Her mouth was dry yet she wasn't thirsty. Something wet landed on her cheek and slid to the corner of her mouth. The salty taste of a tear. She frowned, forced herself to open her eyes again.

"Why you cryin'?"

Jane had knelt down and was now desperately clutched to her body. Her sobs were such that they shook them both like a couple of rag dolls. She was livid.

"'Cause you ain't ok... You keep on passing out and the ambulance won't arrive. Shit!"

A brouhaha rose up somewhere behind her head and all of a sudden a dozen of hands took charge of her. Under other circumstances, Maura would have been able to say that they were trying to check her constants and – stubborn – she would have probably proclaimed that she didn't need such treatment. If it hadn't been for Jane either. The brunette looked desperate, close to a nervous breakdown herself.

The muscles of her mouth hurt as Maura's lips curled up in a smile. Slowly, weakly. She intended a shy laugh that died in a whispered sigh.

"There's nothing funny, Maur'."

The honey blonde bit her lip and barely reacted as she felt the pinch of an injection in her lower arm. If the situation was unexpected – and at some point worrying – a warm feeling had embraced her stomach as she had realized that Jane had called her 'honey' in front of half of the BPD.


	18. Elusive Psyche

_**Author's note: I hope I didn't freak you out too much in the previous chapter... Thank you for all the reviews!**_

**Chapter Eighteen – Elusive Psyche **

"Medical doctors are the worst patients of all time. You have barely touched your dinner."

Maura smiled politely at the nurse before looking down at the tray. The neon light caused a quite awful effect on a rather tasteless food. The woolen shawl she had wrapped around her frame slid down on her shoulder in a subtle caress as she shrugged apologetically.

"I tend to favor local, fresh and organic food."

The young nurse rose an eyebrow unconvincingly before repressing a smirk as she motioned at a small table by the hospital bed.

"I didn't know thin mint Girl Scout cookies were considered as fresh and organic... Anyway, your friend is signing in at the desk. You know, the hysterical one from last night. I thought she'd never let us work properly... What is her occupation?"

This time, a bright smile played on Maura's lips. It wasn't forced and lightened up her features with the delicate grace of honest feelings. She straightened up, adjusted the sheet of the bed. The dozen of blue balloons that Angela had brought earlier in the day moved slightly up in the air; dancing a fluid ballet.

"She chases bad guys..."

Her dreamy whisper got covered by a knock on the door. Jane entered – rather timidly as she noticed the nurse's presence – and flowers in hand, made the few steps that separated her from the bed. The hospital employee left to give them back a semblance of intimacy.

"Hey."

The Italian looked embarrassed. Her voice had sounded weak, vulnerable. She hesitantly patted the bed before sitting on its edge and scanning the room. Her nervousness contrasted with Maura's serenity.

"They are for me...?"

The question made Jane jump of surprise and as if she were realizing that she was holding a bouquet of flowers, she enthusiastically nodded before holding them out to the honey blonde.

Feeling the heat on her cheeks, Jane looked down and hid herself behind a thick curtain of black curls. She had always had a hard time with hospitals. They made her nervous, reminded her of bad times; the kind of ones she wished her brain had deleted instead of letting them haunt her nights quietly.

Maura accepted the flowers – and all smile – bent over for a kiss but as her hand slid on Jane's cheek, she felt the detective get tense; as if the touch had got her worried.

"I won't break into pieces if I happen to make contact with you, Jane."

On the contrary. She craved for it, for feeling the heat of her partner against her cold body; letting her scent going to her head bewitchingly and reminding her that she was one of her biggest references. In spite of Angela spending a large part of the day at the hospital with her, Maura had wanted nothing but finding back the comfort of Jane's arms to remember that she was still alive.

The kiss melted in a singular softness echoing an untold urge, a quiet despair.

"You almost died on me last night, though."

Maura rolled her eyes and let herself fall back against the large pillows. The gloomy view of the day had been replaced by a beautiful game of lights by the window, as if Boston were revealing its secrets under the pale moonlight of a Spring evening. She could hear the traffic somewhere below; it rocked her with an odd regularity.

"Don't exaggerate, Jane. I only had a little down moment. It is very common and can happen to anyone. There is nothing life threatening in all of this."

But as she looked down at the sheet, Maura noticed the way her partner had clenched her fists; how the blood had left her knuckles under the pressure of a quiet anger. Unless it was frustration. Fear.

"It happened because you are emotionally exhausted. There's nothing normal about that. You need to go and have a rest, Maura. I'll send O'Connor at your place tomorrow. There's no way you stay there alone while you take these few days off and I can't give up the case right now."

Something got broken in the corridor, the sound of a glass – a bottle – hitting loudly the floor seemed to resound loud in Maura's bedroom. It made her heart beat faster, highlighted the sharp disappointment stirred up by Jane's comment. She felt tired but most of all pointless for being stuck in bed for a reason she disagreed with. She had passed out during the press conference the night before but didn't feel bad anymore.

A day of rest had been enough, too much actually.

When Catherine Banks had told her that she was passive, the lawyer had been wrong to an extent. When it came to her work, Maura was extremely efficient. Active. Being an observer was just a part of it.

"There is no need to send any police officer to my house because I am going to work, tomorrow. I have plenty of things to do from reports to sign and – perhaps – an autopsy to practice... The chief medical examiner of the State doesn't stay home watching television and gorging herself on chocolate thin mint cookies all day long."

Besides, the BPD offered her an ounce of safety that her Beacon Hill house had suddenly lost when she had found the message by her front door. No matter how many people would be there, a strong feeling of emptiness and transparency would wrap her up as soon as she put a foot inside.

It didn't even have to do with the binary face of the night. The light of the day had ceased to be more reassuring as well.

"Have you lost your mind? You aren't in the right state to work and if you have forgotten what actually happened last night then open any newspaper. They're all talking about the medical examiner's passing out in the middle of that presser."

Maura looked down at her lap. She had read them on her tablet but beyond the light tone used by a few journalists to allude to it, the conclusions that had invaded her mind were that nobody had outed her yet which could only mean one thing: the blackmail was related to the case and she had to be considered as one of the potential next victims. Jane knew it too but didn't dare to say it openly.

None of them dared to.

"I am so sorry..."

Maura clenched her fists and hit the sheet of the bed with frustration and shame. The white cotton kept the print of her hands. She stared at it bitterly. For days she had tried to push away negative thoughts but she was now losing the mental battle. This wasn't how she had imagined it to be. It had nothing to do with her fantasies.

"This is the worst start of a relationship. Catherine's murder, the blackmail and now this..."

Maura passed under silence the fifth victim. The fact she hadn't been aimed herself was a poor – rather ridiculous – consolation for the moment. Intentionally discarding the thought – succumbing to the idea of an elusive psyche – she looked up at Jane and pulled the brunette to her for a hug.

"Hold me tight."

She wasn't scared in itself but felt immensely alone when Jane wasn't around. The nights weren't the same anymore when the Italian's arms didn't wrap her frame up.

Her sleep got stolen by insomnia and Maura suddenly realized that her life made very little sense without the woman she loved by her side. And now she had tasted the softness of a relationship with the brunette, she was unable to come backwards.

"I screamed like a monkey in front of the whole BPD last night because I thought I had lost you, Maur'. So believe me, there is no way I let go of you right now. Never, actually."

The scientist laughed lightly and planted a kiss on her partner's neck then closed her eyes to rest her head there, nourishing herself of the brunette's body heat.

"And I promise you that I will now stop passing out."

Jane slightly moved backwards and frowned - unconvincingly - at Maura.

"Even this promise can make you go vasovagal."


	19. Precarious Strength

_**Author's note: thank you very much for the reviews; I guess the previous chapter was, somehow, some sort of a transition.**_

**Chapter Nineteen – Precarious Strength**

The lines began to melt into a ribbon of black waves as the words abandoned themselves to an odd dance. Troubled, Maura closed her eyes and shook her head. Perhaps she needed a break. The day had been relatively calm at the morgue – without a single corpse requiring an autopsy – but administrative tasks tended to weigh a lot more on her mind and got her easily tired. Her pen slipped through her thin fingers and rolled on the desk. Jane looked up at the unexpected sound and stared at her as Maura rose her hands in apologies.

"I am fine. A bit hungry. Perhaps I should go to the Division One Cafe before it closes."

Her statement failed to reassure the brunette who immediately stood up and made a face, bit her lower lip before rolling her eyes. A sudden panic seemed to spread over her and she kept on turning around as if unable to settle on a proper decision

"What do you want? A salad? A sandwich? I should have thought about it before. Of course, you have to be hungry... It's almost 9pm. Although I hadn't imagined that you'd want to stay here that late since you shouldn't even be at the BPD in the first place."

But the Italian's reproach vanished in anxiety. She was simply worried and deep inside, Maura couldn't help thinking that it was sweet. People were rarely attentive towards her. Jane's excessive reaction had a honest and implicit meaning: she cared for her. A lot.

The scientist stood up and repressed a sigh of frustration as she watched her partner approach her within a second.

"I am not made of glass, Jane. I swear that I am feeling perfectly fine. You don't have to be worried like that..."

The brunette scoffed and barely paid attention to the pile of papers falling from the coffee table down to the floor. She should have gone home herself for a couple of hours already but in a desire to match her partner's schedule, she had decided to stay and read for the thousandth time all the notes they had taken since the beginning of the case she now considered as one of the worst ones she had ever had to solve.

Maura's eyes followed a sheet of paper. Catherine Banks' name appeared in big letters. She swallowed hard and bit the inside of her mouth to prevent a scream of frustration from coming out. Jane shook her head.

"I thought I was losing you. You were as pale as the people who end up on your autopsy table and all of a sudden it was like... My life doesn't make sense without you, Maura. You didn't simply scare me. You let me assume that – without any warning – the world had stopped turning."

That night, Jane had lost her nerves. Completely. And if her colleagues now joked about it – teased her – they all knew that deep inside she had expressed a lot more when knelt down by an unconscious Maura. Words weren't needed, explanations either. Everything had been told implicitly.

The blonde bypassed her desk – her fingers sliding on the warm surface – and closed the distance that separated her from Jane. An apologetic smile embraced her lips, made her eyes glimmer as if hope and wisdom had invaded her mind to control her whole body. A precarious strength considering the delicate circumstances.

"I can prove you now how alive I am..."

Jane didn't push away the latent mischievousness of her partner's behavior. She knew why Maura was reacting like that, why – while in the middle of a case in which she might have been a target herself – the medical examiner took the direction of something light and intense. It was pure instinct, a basic way to defend yourself from the idea your life had suddenly turned uncertain.

Sex made you feel alive. Incredibly alive.

"I'm afraid it's neither the right time nor the right place for that."

The dynamism of their relation had drastically changed since Maura had been threatened. Nothing had slowed down nor accelerated but the pace had been degraded somehow. To the point the honey blonde had apologized the night before in her hospital room, out of despair. Their determination to go on had to be stronger than the rest. No matter what.

"Kiss me."

Maura's whispered plea turned authoritative. Yet sweet. Urgent as if the lack of contact prevented her from breathing and she was now lacking oxygen; lacking strength to survive the deafening silence of the night.

She had assumed that the BPD would own a warmer shade than her house but such feeling still had to show up to prove her that she was right.

Jane smiled as her fingers caressed her partner's lips in a quiet prelude. She let her thumb slide on the cheek and bent over to nourish herself of the honey blonde's breath.

Their relationship had turned into an odd logic. Very quickly, almost suddenly. She had never looked at women – had never felt any specific desire towards any – but then Maura had appeared. Circumstances being what they were, Jane had had little time to think about the way her personal life had made sudden a turn and the only conclusion she had drawn was that Maura was her exception.

She was the only one and would always be.

Hasty steps echoed in the hallway through the opened door of Maura's office. Both women broke their embrace and barely had time to adopt a more neutral position before an officer came in, breathless. He looked frightened; his eyes wandering from right to left under the effect of a frank panic.

"We found back Catherine Banks' head... Well... What's left of it... By the Massachusetts State House."

The news twirled in Maura's head – digging wounds as they kept on hitting the edge of her skull – and for a time that seemed to last an eternity, she forgot to the mere instinct of breathing. Staring blankly in front of her, images of _Anactoria_ passed before her eyes; flashbacks of the nights she had once shared with the lawyer. Everything had seemed so alive, by then. Concrete. They were leading a secret life but it was all fine. Or at least it had looked like so.

Nobody had assumed that the shadows of death had been floating above their heads.

But besides the murder of Catherine – the murder of four other women – a detail caught Maura's attention and if Jane hadn't said a word yet, the scientist knew that she had thought the same: the State House was just at the corner of her very own place. Up there on Beacon Hill by Ashburton Park.

"Maur'? Hey..."

Jane's hoarse voice brought her back to reality. Hand on the blonde's arm, the detective looked worried by the scientist's sudden absence of reaction.

"I am fine. Sorry... Let's go now. There is no time to waste, especially with the rain."

When she had started working as a medical examiner, Maura had handled every single case with that disconcerting confidence and eagerness that all the novices had but the time had passed by and if she still vowed an unlimited passion to her job, she more and more surprised herself wishing nothing but the fast solving of the suspicious deaths she was facing.

If only to be able to come back home at night and enjoy her life, whatever of lightness was left of it. She was emotionally drained, now. As if her soul – like a sponge – had absorbed too much to ever get the chance to dry again at some point.

"When this case it over, promise me to take me away from Boston for a while."

Jane cast a glance at her before focusing back on the road. It was pouring hard – the wind blowing in a madness they had rarely come to face in the city – and the trees waved their branches like a multitude of skinny arms in the dark. The brunette nodded. Vehemently.

"Wherever you wanna go... I'll follow you, Maura. I swear I will. You have my word on that."

But the dark clouds seemed too persistent for the moment to ever fantasize about better days, warmer nights.


	20. Shared Loneliness

_**Author's note: thank you again for all the reviews, hopefully the darkness will soon vanish.**_

**Chapter Twenty – Shared Loneliness**

She needed to stop looking at the door of the patio. It was ridiculous. Nobody could come in by there except for people who happened to have the key and she knew them all very well to the point she could consider them as family. It was a warm evening, the breeze coming from the opened door was pleasing.

It was only fair to not close it. Besides, the whole house had succumbed to a joyful frenzy. She was not alone. Yet why did she feel so lonely and vulnerable?

"Maura?"

Angela's voice took her out of her dark daydreams. With uncertainty, her eyes went from the door to the woman standing up by her side in the kitchen but as if she were the spectator of a movie taking place at her house, the scientist remained quiet and blinked. Unable to speak.

"This case is dragging you down as well, isn't it? You should slow down. Your health scare means something."

The matriarch's features had deepened – darkened in spite of the warm shades of light – and she looked worried. An imperceptible movement of her shoulders emphasized her disarray. She shook her head.

"Just like Jane... I don't know what it is – since none of you want to really talk about it – but I can feel it. These murders have a special importance for the two of you. I know it's not just stress. There's like something else. It's not the first time Jane has to face this kind of case yet she's reacting differently. And so are you."

One of the first things Maura had learned as she had decided to embrace such professional career was the peremptory need to put a barrier between what happened at work and all the rest once she left the BPD.

It was the only way to hold the distance and handle the emotional and psychological weight of crime scenes. Sometimes, she had no issue whatsoever to do it. It came up by itself, with logic.

But other cases would haunt her until her last breath.

"It will be alright, Angela... It is... It is nothing. But let's not talk about it, tonight. It is celebration time and we still have a lot to do before the guests to arrive. It's your birthday! You shouldn't worry about Jane and I."

A bright and serene smile accompanied Maura's comforting words but her tone of voice was a bit too off to her own taste. For the first time in a very long while, her Beacon Hill house was full of life. A delicious smell of roasted chicken came from the oven – music was playing in the background – and a few balloons kept on floating at every corner of the living-room embracing the place of their bright, cheerful colors. But it wasn't enough. Her mind was somewhere else in spite of her efforts.

The front door flew open and Jane stormed in with way too many groceries bags in her arms to keep a proper balance. Maura rushed to her to help. They touched. By accident. A finger sliding on a wrist for a few seconds.

Yet the ephemeral contact resulted enough to cut them from the rest of the world.

Their quiet gaze echoed the subtlety of their smiles and the pink shade that slid on their cheeks in a soft reminder that if a darkness had covered a part of their life, another one had begun to shine brightly in the anonymity of the night. The start of a relationship wasn't necessarily easy but always owned a unique sentiment of sweetness where awkwardness melted in the shy hopes of an intense and eternal story.

"Did they still have Parmesan? I don't want to use mozzarella, it won't be the same at all!"

Their invisible bubble exploded under Angela's comment. With a perfect synchronicity, Jane and Maura turned around and walked to the kitchen in silence. A smile of determination playing on their lips. They would enjoy the parenthesis of an evening spent with the Italian's family, feed themselves of the honest lightness that emanated from it. Because they could, because they had to.

...

Everything had gone fine until her eyes had stopped on the paper towel and the abstract drawings on it had remembered her of Catherine Banks' head now branded of a symbol that oddly looked the same.

A student girl had come across it by accident and immediately called the BPD. The eyes were missing – the eyelids had been sewed together – while the black print of a strange form had been engraved on the forehead. The head had been put down in evidence on top of a garbage can. There, in the middle of a street; by night.

Another series of elements brought to the case yet leaving the crime unit completely perplexed – lost – before the kind of message to decipher. The killer's _modus operandi_ was clear yet his psychology rather complex.

The sudden and unexpected contact of Jane's hand on her knee made her jump of surprise, come back to reality. Conversations were in full swing around the large table – people talking loud, laughing – as the brunette leaned her head against the palm of her hand and locked her eyes with the scientist's.

"Are you okay?"

She hated it when Jane sounded worried. Something left her graceful features by then while a veil of vulnerability spread insidiously and made her look weak. Exhausted. Every single aspect of her life – the ones she tried to fight – imposed themselves and before such a scene, you couldn't help but feel incredibly disarmed.

Maura nodded, smiled shyly.

"Good then come with me to get the cake and the candles ready."

Both women stood up – passing unnoticed – and headed to the kitchen where the birthday dessert had been set on the counter. The plastic stick of the candles plunged in the cake easily, like a knife passing the first layers of the skin. A scalpel. If it had become a common fact for Maura, the feeling still had a surprising effect on medical novices.

Human skin was fragile, just like life.

Jane turned the lights off. The living-room plunged in the dark as the tiny flames of the candles echoed on the walls in a singular dance. The voices rose in harmony embracing the traditional birthday song to accompany Jane and Maura's ritual procession to the table.

The timing turned a bit too perfect. As both women put the cake down the table, the doorbell resounded loud.

Everyone turned around. Utterly surprised. Completely still. The candles keeping their subtle and delicate movement in the dark. Maura straightened up and adjusted her dress. They weren't expecting a single extra guest but after all it was her house. She was the one who had to answer the door.

She didn't even think about turning back the lights on. With self-confidence – conscious of the gazes on her – Maura walked to the door and opened it. The warm breeze of the evening welcomed her. As well as the emptiness of the street. She frowned as confusion crept in her mind and her heart began to beat faster.

There was nobody outside.

She made a step forward and suddenly froze at the almost inaudible sound of her shoe making contact with something. She looked down, swallowed hard. The envelope had been stuck under a stone to make sure that the wind wouldn't take it away. The light of the threshold slid on it with clear evidence.

"Maura?"

She didn't pay attention to Jane and squatted down to pick up the brown paper. Her hands were shaking and her rough breath covered the heavy silence brought up by the unexpected scene. She straightened back up – opened the envelope – and resigned, took the sheet of paper out of it.

The words blinded her of their black ink. A handwritten message, this time. One that - no matter her efforts - would remain engraved in her mind for the rest of her life and steal her nights; reign over her nightmares and insomnia.

_Tic tac tic tac tic tac_

_How are we doing, Dr. Isles?_

_How is she doing?_

_Enjoy your throat while you still have one._

_It will not last._


	21. Vital Symbiosis

_**Author's note: thank you very much for all the reviews; and sorry if it turned out to be a bit too creepy!**_

**Chapter Twenty-One – Vital Symbiosis**

"_How could you not let me know?This isn't professional at all. When a member of our team becomes a target then it's paramount to make it clear. It changes everything! Don't you think it's the base of your job?"_

_Repressing the urge to break the nearest object into pieces, Jane focused on the wall of brick in front of her and took a deep breath. The patio of Maura's house looked suddenly too small. Oppressive. The scientist had stayed inside while Cavanaugh had urgently asked the brunette to follow him outside for some well-needed talk once he had learned about the threat and read the new message Maura had just received. _

"_Until now, we didn't know for sure it was linked to the case. There was a tiny hope... And... You don't seem to understand... It's very personal. It's about a side of Maura's life that she doesn't necessarily... You know... There are some things she doesn't want to put under the spotlight. It's nobody's business but hers."_

_Cavanaugh frowned and shook his head. His anger was controlled but an utter confusion kept him on the edge. Jane made a face, twisted her hands as she wondered how and why they had made it to this point. Why it couldn't go easier and the passing of time let them deal with their new relationship at their own pace._

"_We don't have much information on the victims but what links them – all the time – is... Well, you do know the case. All these women used to or seemed to have an... Attraction... For women... The media as well as the BPD in charge of the investigation know about that so if they learn that Maura is now one of the potential next targets, they'll also get to know that she..."_

_A heavy silence wrapped them up as Jane's words disappeared in the night and her heart broke down into pieces. She had betrayed Maura, to an extent. She would never forgive herself for that. A bright – red – shade slid up on Cavanaugh's cheeks as he finally seemed to understand. Embarrassed, he rose an eyebrow and avoided the Italian's gaze on him. _

"_Oh."_

_How would she announce it to Maura? How would Jane tell her that she had violated her private life? A deep anger began to swirl in her stomach as a veil of tears burnt her eyes. She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard. _

"_Fine. This will remain between you and I but with the right consequences we need to take regarding the protection of Dr. Isles..."_

_Jane nodded timidly but remained quiet. The weight of shame had stolen her voice, reduced her words to silence. _

_Cavanaugh turned around and was about to step back in the house when he stopped; locked his eyes with the brunette's dark ones._

"_I know what it is to lose your other half, Jane. I won't let that happen to you."_

Sat on her couch, Jane closed her eyes and let the words twirl in her head. Cavanaugh's implicit remark had owned a subtle delicacy but had been clear enough. Her silence that had followed as well. She had not tried to correct him. What for? He had said the truth, a fact she accepted and handled as she had to.

"We have five female victims; living in the Boston area, age range is wide and they had never met each other. Their only point in common is their sexual orientation yet none of them had come out. The _modus operandi_ is classic... The killer chops their head off – by night – in a quiet street, with a French sword from the 16th century. Until now the heads were missing. Catherine's one reappeared in a different location from the place we found her body. It is a white male – right handed – about 6'2; in his fifties. Very well organized but has no medical knowledge whatsoever considering the clumsy way Catherine's eyelids were sewed. He seems to choose his victims wisely and probably stalks them for a while before deciding to kill them... At a new place every time... As for the symbol on Catherine's forehead, it is unknown yet looks like a mandala of some sort."

Or a satanist emblem but Jane's research had been vain on the matter. Like the religious associations – anti-gay unions – she and Frost had gone to. They were stuck. Desperately stuck. Her frustrated sigh echoed the nonchalant movement of her head going backwards. The smell of shampoo went dizzily to her head as Maura sat back next to her. Comforting exhalations in the darkness of a sleepless night.

They hadn't alluded to the fiasco of the birthday evening but a brand new determination had risen from their souls to take control of everything. They needed to close this case and quickly.

The sound of a cardboard box hitting the floor pushed Jane to open back her eyes. By accident, Maura had made it fall down while sitting Indian style on the couch. A dozen of pictures had slid between the table and their seat. The honey blonde picked them up immediately and smiled as she took her time to look at them properly.

"Is it you?"

Jane nodded. The photos were old and their colors had faded away but the brightness of her smile was still the same; the innocence of her eyes. She laughed lightly – shrugged – and settled better against the blonde to go through the few shots of her childhood. Her snort filled the room as they stopped on a picture of her with another little girl.

"That bitch of Meredith. She refused to kiss me on the cheek in the school play while it was in the text. She said I wasn't popular enough."

In spite of the bad memories, a well-needed sweetness had wrapped both women without any warning. They had suddenly forgotten about the case - the stress of the past two weeks – and for the first time a warm light seemed to accompany their new relationship. It was an intimate moment. Comforting.

Maura put the pictures back in the box and turned around before letting her lips caress Jane's cheek in a soft, delicate kiss. Her fingers slid on the brunette's throat and disappeared in the depth of her neck just behind her curtain of black curls. She felt the smile curl up the corners of Jane's mouth under her lips.

"I wouldn't have hesitated and kissed you in a heartbeat."

The blonde settled on her partner's lap. Arms around her neck, her eyes wandered down Jane's face with a quiet meticulousness; studying every single feature, engraving each detail in her mind. The pale light of a lamp nearby embraced her skin of a golden shade and made it shine.

"I would have always kissed you in a heartbeat."

Her murmur died against Jane's lips in a urging kiss. A desperate one.

They should have found each other in the irrepressible desire of a shared happiness but instead the echo of a fragile life brought them together; rose their bodies to make them reach the intensity that only the most terrible feelings could bring.

Their respective shirts landed on the floor. A silent smile played on their lips at the skin-to-skin touch.

The contact wasn't simply wanted nor desired but necessary. Just like their caresses, the multitude of kisses that made them feel dizzy and eager for more. Alive, at the mercy of an invisible energy.

Everything was bittersweet but they couldn't help it. A melancholy had taken possession of their long and quiet sighs; their rough breath. One day – perhaps – circumstances would be different and a perfect serenity would embrace their nights, their strong feelings. But for the moment, they simply needed this kind of symbiosis. A vital one.

_The climactic response is prompted by the release of the neurohormones oxytocin and vasopressin. _

_The metabolic activity in the cerebral cortex decreases while activity in the limbic areas of the brain increases. The cerebral cortex governs the conscious layers of the brain, playing a role in attention, awareness, thought process and memory while the limbic system controls the unconscious side of the mind. _

_Hormones increase senses and give a feeling of untouchable power to the subject. Of invulnerability. _


	22. Ambiguous Companionship

_**Author's note: thank you for all the reviews! I hope you still enjoy the ride and if there's something you'd like to see happening in the story, feel free to let me know. I'll see what I can do.**_

**Chapter Twenty-Two – Ambiguous Companionship**

"You should have a break. You have been working all day long."

If a polite smile played on her lips, Maura nonetheless remained focused on her notes and the essay that she had borrowed at the library. She had lost herself in the study of religious symbols for a large part of the afternoon, only assuming that the sun was declining as the golden shade sliding slowly on the pages had darkened little by little to finally disappear, swallowed by the darkness of the evening.

The birds had stopped singing, the traffic in the street reduced to a minimum. Beacon Hill was too quiet at night now that she thought about it. She needed the brouhaha of the crowd, its vitality that was more reassuring in the end than the so-called serenity of an empty townhouse.

"There is _Vertigo_ on television. Watch it with me! I'm sure you like it."

Angela's cheerful tone sounded a tad forced but Maura appreciated the effort. She liked Jane's mother a lot, had got used to her presence around to the point she would have now a hard time imagining her life without the matriarch; her being completely alone at home. All the time or so.

Without saying a word, the scientist abdicated – walked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine – then settled on the couch next to Angela. The voluptuous drink embraced her throat warmly - in a suave caress - before numbing her thoughts and pushing away the hundred symbols she had stared at for a large part of the day.

Jane hadn't complained when – in the morning – Maura had announced that she would go to the BPD instead of spending her day off wandering around the city. After all, the presence of police officers in the building had the advantage to offer a safety that the life outside didn't allow much.

And then the call, around 11.30am. The head of another victim had been found back in the west side of Boston Common.

The repetitiveness of the situations was particularly gloomy. The crime scenes were alike, echoed the disturbing coldness of her actions in the autopsy room; her neutral tone of voice covering the latent emotional fatigue of the past weeks.

"Wasn't James Stewart a sweetheart?"

Maura put down her glass on the coffee table and folded her legs under her; holding her ankles tight – together – as she leaned her head against the palm of her free left hand and nodded evasively.

She had watched the movie more times than she could remember but all of a sudden the only thing she managed to think about was the double role played by Kim Novak.

Was the killer alike? Did he lead – himself – some sort of a double life? Voluntarily, besides.

"He surely was. Elegant and charming... The Golden Age of Hollywood was something else."

Her tongue passed on her lips almost absentmindedly – caressed them in a pale reminiscence of Jane's kisses from the night before – then made her sigh. The brunette was on a night shift and Maura missed her desperately to the point it ached. It was ridiculous but she couldn't help it. She cast a brief glance at the windows before focusing back on the movie. A BPD car was parked in front of her house. Cavanaugh's order since she had got the second threat. The alarm was on as well.

A fortress.

Too much security around that only highlighted her sentiment to be stuck in her own trap if something was to happen suddenly.

"And how do you find her?"

The silence that followed Angela's question betrayed Maura's confusion and slight discomfort.

Under other circumstances, the scientist would have barely minded but Jane's mother's tone of voice had let show the implicit nuance of something more. Something the honey blonde couldn't ignore. Unable to divert her gaze from the television screen, Maura swallowed hard.

"Kim Novak was a cold beauty."

Angela was looking at her. She could feel the weight of her gaze on her, deprived of any judgment – of any anger. A serenity embraced her features with a disturbing perfection. She was smiling.

"Do you prefer her as a blonde or as a brunette? Which one is your type of woman?"

This time Maura turned around and faced the explicitness of the question, locked her eyes with the ones of the woman sitting by her side. They wouldn't have needed to speak for their thoughts being obvious.

Angela shrugged and rolled her eyes apologetically.

"You might be a very discreet person, I still live a bit too close to you to ignore a few things regarding your personal life."

If the questions began to twirl in her head, the panic that they should have set off never showed up. An odd yet pleasant warm feeling had wrapped Maura up. She grabbed back her glass of wine and took a sip; cast a glance at the screen. James Stewart had plunged in the icy waters to go and rescue Kim Novak.

"Is it the reason why you got this threat?"

The vapors of alcohol disappeared immediately. Reality hit her back with a quiet violence and avoiding Angela's gaze, Maura nodded in silence. Cavanaugh knew about it, why should she avoid an answer if she considered the Italian matriarch as family? It was certainly not the scenario she had imagined – neither for her nor Jane – but it only proved that at times, she simply couldn't control everything.

"Has Jane got one too?"

Her grip tightened on the glass and made the wine pitch from right to left. Someone screamed in the movie. She jumped and after what seemed like an eternity shook her head at the question as a heavy sigh passed her lips.

She wanted Jane by her side. She wanted blue skies and clear light. No crimes anymore; no more sword of Damocles above her head.

Yes. For the first time in her life, Maura desperately needed sweetness and it took her aback.

"It's okay, you know. It was only a matter of time... You're a good person and you make my daughter happy. You're family."

Jo Friday jumped on her lap without any warning and scratched its head against her stomach. She had never been much of a dog person but she had learned – little by little – to appreciate its presence in her life. Jane's dog was joyful, sweet. The contrast it brought with her daily job at the morgue surely had a few advantages when she thought about it.

"I guess it is time to walk her out."

Angela's eyes widened and in a frank panic, she grabbed the dog – shook her head – then stood up as hasted steps led her to the door. By the time Maura reacted, the woman had already found the leash.

"You really think I'm going to let you go outside at night by yourself? You're as thoughtless as Jane!"

The slam of the door resounded loud in the quiet house. Too loud, maybe. Maura sat back on the couch and tried to focus on the movie but the images were dancing in front of her eyes; the actors' lines losing themselves in an incomprehensible blah blah. Without moving an inch - not caring much about the alarm that was now off - she grabbed the book set on the desk in her back and resumed her reading.

Once a journalist had said that the only companionship the Chief Medical Examiner of Massachusetts seemed to have was her loneliness but that unlike most of people, she found in it the strength that had become through the years her very own signature. The one that enveloped her aura of a dark mystery and made of her a person oddly appealing. Dreaded as well.

She had found veracity in these words but at times Maura couldn't help thinking about the duality of such invisible acolyte. She had got used to loneliness and enjoyed it. Yet without any warning it could show another face and she wanted nothing by then but the exact opposite. A dozen people around her, a loud house.

The end of a silence that weighed too much on her life.

Loneliness was ambiguous. It might have defined her, she still wished – at times – that it had never chosen to clutch to her side for it being too dark; too harsh.


	23. Revealing Ellipsis

_**Author's note: thank you for all the reviews!**_

**Chapter Twenty-Three – Revealing Ellipsis**

It had rained for a large part of the afternoon and the asphalt was still damp; a fog rising from its guts to float above the city in the darkness of the night. The lights of the traffic were dying in its opacity as it stuck to the skin oppressively. The air was hot, and humid.

The conditions could have hardly got worse to deal with a head abandoned at the corner of Court Street after days of having been detached from the rest of the body.

Jane straightened up – aware of the media in her back – and repressed the desire to wrinkle her nose at the smell. She could deal with the gruesome physical aspect of a corpse but the effluvia escaping from the opened flesh and damaged tissues made her own stomach turn rather easily. She had simply found her very own way to hide it.

As she squatted down, the dampness of the road seemed to travel up her legs; passing under her pants to slide in a cold – disturbing – embrace on her skin. She shivered and tried to focus on the head that was resting a few inches away from her on the ground. The stitches on the eyelids reminded her of a cross and suddenly all she could think about was the local church of their neighborhood and the mass she attended every Sunday morning as a child. For some reason, she had always been more impressed by the cross than the Christ crucified on it.

"Is it me or the tissues seem to be more damaged than on the previous ones? Obviously they have been plunged in formalin but bruises appear on the cheekbones here while the others were neat."

She turned her head around and looked up at Korsak but the spotlights blinded her. She put a hand in front of her eyes in a protective attempt and saw her partner shrug. His figure was plunged in the dark, the lack of light stealing away his own identity to make him pass anonymous. Neutral.

"Dr. Isles should be able to tell us more about it."

Jane nodded and stood back up on her feet. The latex gloves were too tight around her hands, they hurt her wrists. Trying to ignore the latent pain, she looked over her colleague's shoulder but apart from the usual crew of police officers and journalists, Maura was nowhere to be seen.

"Where the hell is she?"

The light incorporated in her watch spread its blue neon shade as she pressed the button to check the time. The minutes had flown away and the scientist had left for way too long to her taste, now.

Within four steps, Jane reached the yellow tape where the crowd had gathered and frankly looked around.

_In the case of panic, it is believed that the levels of neurotransmitters norepinephrine and serotonin as well as the brain structures known as the amygdala and hypothalamus play a primary role. Once these signals are initiated in the brain, there is an activation of the sympathetic nervous system. Adrenalin is released into the subject's bloodstream which causes feelings of panic along with a few bodily changes such as increased heart rate, shortness of breath, sweating and dizziness. _

"Maura? Maura!"

The media brouhaha stopped as for the first time in her career Detective Jane Rizzoli's voice resounded extremely loud and desperate in the darkness of a Boston evening. A dozen of faces turned around, stared at her in disbelief.

The world seemed to have stopped turning before her unexpected and quite out of character reaction. A feeling of emptiness rushed to her heart as she hysterically looked from left to right without seeing the mere detail around. It was too dark, too crowded. Someone grabbed her wrist and in the frenzy of her obvious panic made her jump of surprise. It was Korsak, too calm; too serene. Oblivious to the reason why she had succumbed to such a state of anxiety.

"Jane, it's okay. She went to pick up her flashlight in her car because she'd forgotten it. Remember?"

Except Maura's Prius was parked a few feet away and there was nobody around.

Shaking her head with vehemence, Jane ran her hand through her hair and made a step forward before stopping right away. She had no idea what to do, no idea where to go. Her brain had ceased to work as well and all she was able to notice was the way her heart kept on pounding loud in her chest.

"No, it's not okay! She's nowhere to be seen. Maura? Maura! Has someone seen her? Fuck it, there are like twenty people here. She cannot have disappeared like that. Where is she? Where the hell is she for Christ's sake? Where... Cavanaugh. Someone, call him!"

The lump in her throat spread a pain that made her vision blurry and all of a sudden – in front of these people who used to deal with her cold and strong temper – Jane Rizzoli burst into tears. Alone, in the middle of an invisible circle of faces that stared at her with perplexity.

The pain distorting her face emphasized by the cruel shade of the bright spotlights.

"She's there!"

Korsak pointed out the sidewalk on their left. Maura was running towards them, the officer in charge of her protection by her side. She was holding a small plastic bag.

Slightly breathless, she passed under the yellow tape and shook her head at Frost as a timid smile played on her lips.

"My flashlight batteries were dead. I went to buy new ones at the corner of Washington Street."

But before the absence of reaction of her interlocutor, Maura frowned and finally noticed the silence as well as the faces that were scrutinizing her with a sudden interest. Jane's sobs, coming from her right.

"What is going on? What..."

A hundred questions – melting into untold feelings – bumped in her head as she felt the brunette hold her tightly in front of everyone. Like a rag doll, Maura let her partner do but quiickly echoed Jane's own panic as not a single person seemed eager to explain the slightest thing. Seeing the Italian cry was rare yet a lot more in public.

A first on a crime scene.

"'Thought you were dead."

The sentence pierced through the sobs, an ellipsis that revealed a lot more than what they had assumed to ever say in public. Jane's hands slid on her cheeks to cup her face. They were cold, moist and shaking. As the Italian locked her eyes with Maura's, the scientist swallowed hard and cast a furtive glance at the media – at the police officers – who were all observing the scene in great confusion.

Jane's lips brushed her temple in a complete silence contrasting with the loud sweetness of the gesture. The kiss barely lasted a second but it got engraved on Maura's skin, wrapped her up of a delicious yet blurry feeling. Her partner's heat warmed up her own body, made her smile as she felt Jane rest her face in the crook of her neck where the tears disappeared, absorbed and swept away by a brighter reality.

And the nightmare vanished.

Something would change forever that night in the dynamism of their work team, the vision the media would have of Homicide Detective Jane Rizzoli and Medical Examiner Maura Isles.

Not necessarily about the nature of their relation that most of observers had somewhat guessed – to an extent – but a hidden part of their respective personalities. The one that they had kept for themselves – until now - for their life outside the BPD once they pushed aside the medical examiner and detective labels to simply be Maura and Jane; two women in their late thirties.

Something would have broken yet made them stronger for appearing a bit more human. They did have feelings – strength and insecurities – and they impacted on their daily existence like anyone around.

It was just a matter of appearances, a tricky game of lights and shades to let people believe that nothing would ever bring them down. A desperate attempt. A precarious shield.

A revealing ellipsis.

And without a word – once their job was done – they would leave the crime scene, driving away in their respective cars to disappear behind the curtains of their private lives as if nothing had happened. Nothing worth to one day ever be mentioned.


	24. Epistolary Confusion

_**Author's note: thank you everyone, and keep your guessing coming about who the killer might be; it is quite entertaining!**_

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Epistolary Confusion**

A siren piercing the heavy silence made her look up and focus on the building opposite the street.

The revolving light of the police car parked below in the street embraced the wall of bricks of its neon shade through successive, regular waves and subconsciously Jane began to echo its rhythm tapping her fingers nervously on the desk before her.

It was late and she felt like going back home, have a shower and spend the rest of the evening with the only person who seemed to bring some sense in her upside down – precarious – life: Maura. They had worked all day long and she needed that break; a parenthesis made of honest sweetness, stolen kisses.

The door of the office flew open and made her jump. Cavanaugh came in. Quietly, without a word.

But the depth of his features resulted enough for Jane to understand that their upcoming face-to-face would be anything but peaceful. Sitting up in her seat, the brunette forced herself to stop the tapping of her fingers on her boss' desk and waited for the beginning of hostilities.

"You're off the case, Rizzoli. My decision is irrevocable and it takes effect now."

If the words made it to her brain, their meaning got lost in a fog of incomprehension and she remained speechless for long seconds; completely still. Stunned. Until a laugh passed her lips with a dark irony.

"You gotta be kidding me."

In a gesture of authority, Cavanaugh crossed his hands – rested them on top of his desk – and slightly leaned forward before shaking his head. Of course, he was serious. He always was.

"It has become too personal, Jane. Your meltdown proved it last night and if I hadn't been in New York by then – only coming back tonight – I would have sent you home right away. Your reaction is human – understandable – but you know that a cop can't do any good on a case when he or she is _that_ sensitive on the matter. It's not against you, on the contrary. I do that for your mental sake, to protect you."

Jane snorted. Her anger was such that it had risen in a cold silence from her lower stomach to release adrenalin throughout her whole body and she was now fuming; on the verge of grabbing the first object to break it down into a thousand pieces.

"No. I turn down your decision. Call that what you want, I don't give a damn right now. The only one who needs protection here is Maura, not me. You can fire me – take my gun – I will still be on this case and won't let go of it until I catch whoever is turning our life into a nightmare."

…

If the morgue tended to be a rather quiet place all day long, a singular silence seemed to fall over it as the moon gently pushed away the sun to shine over the city. The tiny – almost inaudible – murmurs of the few people in the lab accompanied the zoom of the air conditioning and the computers that were still working.

The place was opportune for reflection and focus. Well needed concentration.

But the loud steps of a furious Jane storming in got the effect of a tornado over a peacefully asleep little town and all of a sudden the floor plunged back into a unusual frenzy.

"You haven't looked at these heads long enough that you're still on them at this hour of the night?"

With self-control, Maura ignored the Italian's aggressive tone of voice and kept her eyes on the the scar left by the sewing of the eyelids as if she were observing a world renown painting. The thin layer of her latex glove didn't turn out as an obstacle as she passed a finger on the stitches and felt their bumps; the movement of the act itself that had left a print behind.

Plunged in her thoughts, her whisper hit the air with depth and uncertainty; a precarious balance where the shades of confusion and fear tried desperately to creep in, no matter her efforts to keep these feelings at bay.

In a dark corner that her mind would end up forgetting.

"He is talking to us. I simply try to understand his message."

The latex gloves snapped loudly on her hands as she took them off and finally turning around, Maura looked up at Jane. A playful smile was playing on her lips. How could she be serene? How could she not lose her nerves before the events that kept on happening?

"By your inflection, I am going to assume that your last-minute conversation with Cavanaugh didn't turn pleasant enough."

Jane grabbed a stool and sat on it on the other side of the table; right in front of the scientist. Her anger was slowly vanishing into an odd mischievousness – a strong boldness – and within a second her dark eyes got locked with Maura's hazel ones authoritatively.

Frank contrast with the insecurity emanating from her voice.

"I have officially been dismissed from the case."

A veil of darkness passed over Maura's features; surprise melting into something else that Jane had a hard time to define properly. Her hazel eyes stopped on the victim's head for a few seconds and pushed by an invisible strength – a controlled anger – the scientist suddenly stood up; walked aimlessly to the other side of the room.

"It is because of me, isn't it?"

Jane turned around and looked at Maura's back, her curvy figure and the way its shadow embraced the floor sliding along it before disappearing by the metallic tables on the other side of the room. If it had not been for the medical examiner herself, the brunette would have reduced her visits to the morgue to a minimum. It was too neat, there. Too cold. Too silent. The smell of bleach burnt her lungs as the way too strong neon lights offered a haunting view of damaged tissues.

Everything was oppressive, there.

"No. It's because of me and nobody else. There's a reason why you haven't been dismissed yourself."

Jane stood up in a blaring sound – the legs of the stool shrieking against the floor – and cast a glance at the head before closing the distance that separated her from Maura. Her eyes had stopped on the black symbol engraved in the forehead. The killer had initiated a conversation with them, some sort of unique epistolary relation she didn't understand. It was confusing. Frustrating.

Her fingers slid on the scientist's nape, pushed away her honey curls as she approached her lips to plant a stolen kiss on the hot skin there. She felt the reaction, instinctive. The shivers running down Maura's spine at the light contact of their respective bodies.

"Do you think we are fated to live in the darkness? In that creepy side of the world?"

As much as the question turned out to be rather surprising, Maura preferred to smile at it. She turned around – passed her arms along Jane's sides – and molded her body against the Italian's.

"Like some sort of modern version of damned lovers?"

The brunette's nod died in a shrug as she abandoned herself to the incongruous idea. She was rational – just like Maura – yet the past few weeks began to weigh on her mind. Perhaps a bit too heavily.

"Life has very few to do with the classic scheme of Greek tragedies, Jane. Thankfully – when it seems to go that way – the _deus ex machina_ often turns brighter in the end."

Yet Maura had to recognize that the evolution of their relationship had been enveloped of a strange – slightly disturbing – aura. They had found each other in the abyss of their fragile existence and were now desperately trying to build something warm and positive out of it. They had crossed the lines of their friendship at one of the darkest moments of their lives.

It couldn't be a mere game of coincidences.

"Kiss me."

Jane's urge twirled in the silence of the night before floating around and betraying her despair. Without a word, Maura obliged; abandoned herself to the embrace with the strength of the ones whose hope is always there to lighten the path of their bare existence with the subtle shades of a better tomorrow.


	25. Blurry Indulgence

_**Author's note: thank you again for the reviews; the guest mentioning the head being nearby while they were kissing cracked me up - it's a bit gloomy indeed!**_

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Blurry Indulgence **

The sponge got pressed against her back and released water drops that slid along her spine in a soft caress before plunging back in circles at the surface of the bath; absorbed by the bubbles surrounding her body. She closed her eyes, focused on the feelings. The slight roughness of the fabric contrasting with the softness of Jane's fingers carried along by the soap against her pale skin.

The brunette seemed to be describing a meandering of circles and waves, abstract forms that embraced Maura's back in a massage of some sort. A relaxing motion under the pale flame of candles lit around.

And then the lips, landing on her shoulder in an unexpected kiss. The blonde smiled – looked down at the water covering the bottom of her body – as Jane passed her arms around her waist then rested her forehead where the ghost of her kiss still haunted Maura's skin. For long seconds the scientist focused on the sweetness of the gesture, the way her partner's breath slid along her back at a regular pace. But something warmer than a water drop suddenly made her freeze as it began to travel down her spine.

She swallowed hard, pressed Jane's forearm.

"Why are you crying?"

Her whisper resounded low in the timid light of the bathroom. The Italian plunged her face in the crook of her neck to stifle her sobs, take a deep breath. Maura remained still, staring aimlessly in front of her. She had assumed that an evening bath would be relaxing, well needed after a day at the BPD.

Jane might officially not be on the case anymore, she still had kept on making research about symbols; anything that would get them closer to a killer who seemed too strong for the moment.

"I love you."

The brunette's words seemed to own the shape of apologies; betraying her fears and a thousand feelings she didn't dare to say out loud. It took Maura aback. Completely. Another kiss, on her neck this time as Jane rested her chin back on her shoulder.

"When did you start developing feelings for me?"

The honey blonde looked aside yet kept her back turned to Jane. The question was fair and had surely burnt the Italian's lips for a while already. Trying to gather her thoughts, Maura frowned; bit her lower lip. The reflection of candle was dancing in front of her against the ceramic wall, as if possessed by an evil force of some sort.

"I don't know... I simply realized one morning that my life would never make sense without you... Two years ago. It happened two years ago. On a Sunday afternoon."

The honesty of her confession made her frown as the realization of her deep – eternal – silence hit her. How had she managed to pretend for so long? How had she managed to convince herself that all of this was vain?

"You should have told me."

Jane's statement made her laugh quietly. It sounded easy but the silence that followed summed up quite well how the brunette had been oblivious all along to Maura's feelings.

Long gazes. Awkward smiles. Ambiguous words.

Nocturnal tears.

"What happened at _Anactoria _that night? What pushed you to kiss me as we came back here?"

Jane moved in her back. The water of the bath crashed against her hips, embraced her elbows. The tip of the brunette's index finger brushed her nape, made her shiver. She swallowed hard, closed her eyes. And waited for an answer. That night had marked a turning point in their relationship. Jane had made the first step after a blurry kiss two nights earlier.

"It seemed incredibly logical. Just like that, all of a sudden while I was looking at the customers... And you. I wanted to be with you. All this time wondering why it never worked out with anyone, why I kept on comparing everything to what you and I had... You didn't look vulnerable, that night. Just sad. For a reason that wasn't fair at all. I thought about the way you had kissed me, all these details that assembled to each other formed a truth that I couldn't deny. It was you."

Maura turned around and finally looked at Jane; lifted her partner's chin to let her hazel eyes plunge in the Italian's dark ones. The detective seemed terrified.

"What if I'm not able to protect you? What if I lose you?"

Embracing her feelings and a same-sex relationship hadn't been an issue for Jane and was still not one. The only point she focused on was the context they were evolving in. A blurry indulgence, precarious. They knew that Maura was safe for the moment – the killer having thrown himself in a disturbing and singular process of returning his previous victims' head first since no other body had been found yet – but it wouldn't last.

The parenthesis was fragile. Too short.

"Perhaps we should just leave. You know, like in movies. Without telling anyone, with a new identity... At times I wonder what would happen if we did but the daydream always turns blurry."

A shade of bright pink slid up Jane's cheeks. She looked down, hid herself behind a curtain of damp – black – curls. It was the first time she confessed such thing without being asked to. Maura knew how the Italian hated it for sounding way too weak.

"It is a lovely dream but since when do you try to run away instead of facing your difficulties? This is not the Jane I know. You are able to handle your fears."

Yet the brunette looked completely defeated, and lost. The last events didn't help much. She had lost her nerves on a crime scene, had been dismissed from the case. Everything was falling down in pieces. Little by little. Day after day. The nights seemed fragile.

"Where do you find your strength, Maur'? I don't get it."

A bright smile lit up the scientist's features. With the delicacy of uncertainty – afraid the mere motion might damage Jane – she caressed her partner's cheek then rested her thumb behind her ear.

"The same place where you found yours when facing Hoyt."

A light flickered in the detective's eyes as if the echo of Maura's words had resounded loud and clear in her head to the point a new path of possibilities was spreading before her now. She frowned, shook her head. Unsure.

"You. It was you. You were my strength. The reason why I fought and didn't abdicate."

It seemed like a veil of wisdom had wrapped up Maura's body and was now carrying her on towards a bright serenity. She looked quiet; and peaceful. Yet Jane did remember her reaction when she had got the threats. She had seen fear slide on her face, travel down her spine. Make her swallow hard.

"Then you have found mine. It is you, Jane. It will always be you."

And as if to satisfy and give sense to their words, the night would turn quiet; uneventful if it weren't for their caresses in the pale light of the bedroom. They would stay in each other's arms and not allude to a darker side that kept on weighing over their life. There wouldn't be any phone call, not the mere crime scene. Nobody would interrupt them. Absolutely nobody.

"Perhaps if we close our eyes and wish it very strongly then time will freeze."

Maura leaned up on her elbow. Her light laugh died against Jane's lips, stealing away the statement the Italian had made while tracing a path of kisses down her lover's throat. The honey blonde would have never imagined that Jane would be so sweet; so caring. Protective.

"Is this the fantasy you have about me?"

Jane pouted but the playfulness of her gaze vanished soon in a heavy melancholy. She shrugged, settled in Maura's arms. Her sigh filled the room.

"I wish life were that easy."

The bitterness of her comment found relief in the way Maura grabbed her hands – let her fingers slide along hers – before her lips made contact with the scars on her skin. And she soothed her pain, silently.


	26. Poetic Reminiscence

_**Author's note: thank you very much for the reviews and indeed Jane didn't not receive threats but it's not that either. ;)**_

**Chapter Twenty-Six – Poetic Reminiscence**

Whenever the doors of the elevator opened – the sonorous alarm resounding loud – a strong smell of coffee embraced her, carried along by the brouhaha of conversations and machines. By night the noises subdued but the exhalation of the drink remained. And it took her aback, used as she was to the bleach of the morgue.

She walked down the corridor with haste, passed a few offices already abandoned to the late hours of the evening and plunged in the dark; the streetlights piercing through the windows, sliding along the impersonal furniture in golden, pale shades. Stifled voices slowed down her pace. She cast a glance in their direction and saw a couple of young police officers laughing lightly by a coffee maker.

They owned the enthusiasm of novices, the precarious one that would end up fading away at the same time as the innocence of their features. They would see too many things, untold atrocities that would steal their nights away before breaking them down into pieces through an oppressive whirl. It always happened at some point. They acknowledged her presence of a vague nod and she resumed her way to the homicide unit open space at the very last end of the floor. Jane was sat at her desk, staring blankly at photos and notes pinned on a glass wall. She looked defeated and exhausted. A sharp contrast with the two rookies Maura had just seen.

"Prune-stuffed gnocchi, Colorado lamb loins and coconut layer cake... A 2009 Verdad Tempranillo "Sawyer-Lindquist Vineyard" seemed the best option to accompany the dinner as much as gnocchi are usually recommanded with a demi-sec champagne like a Veuve Clicquot. I hope you won't mind this little... Deviating."

Maura took the ceramic plates out of the bag she had brought along and settled them on the Italian's desk with a complete casualness if it weren't for the timid smile of satisfaction that curled up her lips.

"_N°9 At The Park_? You got a delivery from _N°9 At The Park_?"

Jane's utter surprise made her smile melt into a grin as a warm feeling spread in her lower stomach. The wine embraced of its purple shade the transparency of the glasses, its aroma spread over the desk.

"I am an A-list client. They would get me a delivery to Paris if I asked it."

Without paying much attention to the few officers passing by the area – yet aware of their confused and amused gazes over the scene – Maura grabbed a chair and sat next to Jane. Both were on a night shift – except the detective would have to stay at the BPD headquarters if they were called to retrieve the head of the fourth victim – but the truth was that the honey blonde needed a break. A sweet parenthesis.

For some reason, the night was weighing on her more than it usually did.

"_What frenzy in my bosom raged, / And by what cure to be assuaged? / What gentle youth I would allure, / Whom in my artful toils secure?_"

The gnocchi melted in her mouth – slid on her palate and spread their delicious aroma – as Korsak's voice resounded loud and sent an icy shiver down her spine.

The contrast troubled her, the way pleasure had no difficulty whatsoever to join a quiet sentiment of fear.

Without a word, Maura looked up at him enter the open space a sandwich in hand. His eyes stopped on the dishes laid on Jane's desk. Surprise caught him, a light envy as well. The brunette's snort dragged her back to reality a bit harshly.

"You're in a poetic mood, now?"

Maura kept on eating in silence but the sudden dangling of her stiletto betrayed her nervousness soon accompanied by her breath turning rough. Sat on his chair, Korsak grabbed a book and waved it. It did not take Jane a long time to swallow hard and let a darkness fight away the precarious serenity of her features.

"It was on Catherine Banks' bedside table, with plenty of annotations in it. Looks like she was quite in Sappho's poetry. Especially _Anactoria_, her side-notes are numerous and rather incomprehensible."

As much as the wine was of a refined quality, its effect turned poor as Maura took a sip of it. Perhaps she should have asked Jane to join her downstairs in her office instead. They would have been alone and none of this would have happened. Not that she blamed the brunette's colleague. He couldn't guess anything.

"In Antiquity, Sappho was commonly regarded as one of the greatest lyric poets. Horace wrote in his Odes that her lyrics are worthy of sacred admiration."

But Maura's piece of information vanished in an inaudible whisper as images of the secret club rushed to her mind through a series of delicate flashbacks. Catherine was cautious. She would have never left any hint about _Anactoria_ at her place nor anywhere else. She not only respected the rules but actually needed them herself.

Nothing had leaked regarding her private life after her murder. Her sexual orientation hadn't made the headlines. Perhaps Bella Hartman had made sure that a silence would remain over this side of her life. Out of respect and to protect all the other influential women who shared the same secret.

"Is Sappho linked to any kind of symbol, Dr. Isles?"

Maura shook her head and looked down at her plate. As much as it seemed now obvious that the killer focused on his victims' sexual orientation – the coincidence was too much to be one – the symbol left on their forehead didn't make the slightest sense. Or at least not yet.

"And they were all single, as far as we know..."

Since Jane's outburst at the crime scene, Maura wondered if their colleagues had guessed something. None of them had made a single allusion. Nobody had said anything whatsoever. Yet it weighed a tad insidiously on her mind and spread – second by second – an invisible strength over her actions.

Did they know that she used to kiss every single inch of Jane's skin – caress her curves – and nourish herself of the brunette's sighs? Her quiet moans. Her unique smiles.

Did they know about that?

A source of heat took her out of her wonders. It came from her knee and spread to her whole body with a quiet desire; lustful fantasies. Maura looked down and smiled at Jane's hand on her skin. The gesture was barely hidden and seemed protective; sweet.

"What does their relationship status have to do with Sappho's poems?"

Korsak shrugged. Chewing on his sandwich, he rolled his eyes and motioned at the transparent wall by his right side.

"A victim's partner always comes in handy in a case. He or she can bring information that relatives do ignore at times. Unfortunately for us, it's not how it's going now."

Jane hid her embarrassment behind her glass of wine. She had taken his previous statement too personally. Korsak was right yet all she had thought about was her very own relationship with Maura. Her dark eyes stopped on the anthology on her colleague's desk. The poetic reminiscence of the club made her feel uncomfortable. For obvious reasons.

"Anyway the..."

Maura's voice died in a gasp as all of a sudden the lights disappeared and the building plunged in the dark. A brouhaha of stifled voices – hasted steps – came from the corridor.

She felt Jane's hand get tense on her knee, her breath turning sharp. An alarm set off. Blaring sound in the night.

If she had been told to run, Maura would have been unable to move. She was petrified in her seat, a fork in hand. The lights of the street slid in ghostly shadows over the room. Icily. She counted until three but the lump in her throat won over her desperate efforts and she felt the tears run on her face.

She wasn't panicked. She had succumbed to a deep, atrocious fear.

And then the light. Red. Embracing the confusion of their faces as the alarm reached a higher level; doors getting slammed loudly in the background. Hands on his ears, Korsak looked around – frowned – then stopped his eyes on Maura as he realized that she was crying uncontrollably. Next to her, Jane was livid.


	27. Measured Absence

**_Author's note: thank you very much for the reviews! As for the head at the BPD... Hmm... We'll see!_**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven – Measured Absence**

"Where is Detective Rizzoli?"

The few flashes subdued as the room turned silent and all the gazes stopped on Cavanaugh. Showing a strong – undeniable – self-control, the man straightened up and cleared his voice before bending over to speak into the microphone.

"Homicide Detective Jane Rizzoli has been transferred to another case."

Maura pouted and looked down at her feet. It was only partially true. The Italian had been assigned to administrative tasks and was presently sitting at her desk mumbling her discontentment away for not being at the press conference with her colleagues. Whispers of surprise rose suddenly in the room. For a brief moment, Maura locked her eyes with Bella Hartman's before focusing back on the speech she had prepared for the media.

She had accepted the coffee, this time. But her complexion owned the same transparency as the ones of the corpses waiting to be autopsied.

It wasn't more of a trauma than a latent fear. A feeling she didn't know what to do with. Her reaction the evening before had betrayed whatever was now haunting her.

The blackout and the set of of the blaring alarm had been caused by an overheating issue. Nothing else. Yet for long minutes Maura had developed a thousand scenarios that always ended up with the bump of her head rolling on the floor; detached from the rest of her body. Like in some bad horror movie.

"Dr. Isles?"

Cavanaugh's question took her out of her reverie and – as if carried on by an invisible force – she stood up before walking to the microphone. She knew her text by heart and could easily guess the series of questions that her explanations would stir up. They had found a fourth head in the morning. The one of the second victim.

She passed her tongue over her lips and let her teeth sink in the voluptuous – pink – flesh. The beats of her heart were perfectly controlled. She wasn't shaking. Her self-confidence was back and as she cast a glance at the crowd gathered before her, she couldn't help but furtively smile. People were quiet. Eager to hear her opinion on a very serious matter.

Whenever her chest rose and brushed the fabric of her top, she thought about Jane's hands caressing her naked skin in the intimacy of a bed. The paths of kisses she would leave behind, the feelings warm lips would stir up through her body. She swallowed hard and was about to start speaking when a door at the bottom of the room opened.

Without a word, Jane sneaked in and leaned against the wall; arms crossed on her chest.

Her speech slid on her lips and filled the room with the fluidity that only experience could bring. With her typical neutral voice – the one she used in public, for professional purposes – Maura detailed point by point the last autopsy as well as its results; the conclusions they had come to during the day. And the cruel final words highlighting the fact that they hadn't found anything new.

She took it as a personal failure but instead of bringing her down, it only gave more fuel to her urge – a quiet stubbornness that only a few were actually aware of – to close the case on a positive note.

"I am starving. Your place or mine?"

Journalists probably overheard her question as they passed by her to leave the room but Maura couldn't care less. She had been discreet – if it weren't for the subtle smirk playing on her lips – as she had gone straight to Jane at the end of the press conference. Television crews were packing back, a brouhaha had taken control of the room.

"Dirty Robber? I'm not in the mood for a take-away. It's almost 9pm... How about a couple of beers and a burger?"

There was something reassuring in Jane's dark eyes; something Maura had spent the last weeks plunged into as a warm feeling spread over her lower stomach. She forgot all the rest, by then. The world turned fuzzy and the noises around disappeared. It was all about Jane. Always.

"Hey."

Bella Hartman's voice made her jump of surprise. She hadn't heard the woman approach. Jane turned around to leave them alone but Maura grabbed her wrist to stop her. Her thumb slid on the bone with discretion. The ghost of a caress for a kiss she couldn't give, not even an embrace. The Italian smiled and nodded at the journalist before going back to the crime unit open space.

"You finally got your detective."

It wasn't a reproach, on the contrary. As they both looked at Jane going away, Maura smiled at Bella's comment yet didn't add anything. She wasn't here to talk about her private life. It was neither the right place nor the right time for it.

"Catherine would have been happy for you."

A heavy melancholy wrapped up Bella's words and pushed Maura to look at the journalist properly. Her voice had been shaking, betraying a few confessions that didn't need to be said out loud. Both women – lost among the crowd of police officers and media – stared at each other for long seconds.

Until Bella shrugged and rolled her eyes; tears making them shine.

"That's life."

It hit Maura like a ton of bricks. How could she not have guessed earlier? Bella and Catherine used to spend a few nights together now and then but it had never crossed her mind that the journalist could have developed feelings for the lawyer. Not until now, not until despair seemed to tighten a grip on the woman's graceful features.

"Oh, Bella..."

But the journalist stopped her, waved away any kind of words of consolation that Maura was about to give her.

"I'm not here to talk about myself. I've come to you because of the case. I know your ethics – and you know mine – but what is going on exactly? First Rizzoli breaks into a panic attack of some sort at the crime scene because you are nowhere to be seen and now she has been dismissed? What is it that you aren't telling us?"

Maura opened her mouth to reply but the words didn't come out. Of course Jane's absence – even if a tad measured in the end – wouldn't pass unnoticed. Of course it would raise suspicion and confusion.

It was pure logic.

Yet she couldn't say anything. The weight of the situation pressed against her shoulders, made her look down at the floor. The lights embraced it of a cruel shade. Too white. Blinding. Images of the night she had spent with Bella came back to her mind. It had been sweet yet deprived of any feeling.

The exact opposite of what she was living with Jane. The complete intensity of the fusion of their skins, of their bodies.

"It is personal. You don't need to know about it."

Apologizing in silence, Maura offered a timid smile and turned around. Ready to leave. It had been a long day. She was tired. And hungry. The night had fallen over Boston before she had had a chance to enjoy the bright light of the day properly. The morning had been gloomy and the afternoon spent under the neon lights of the autopsy room.

She needed a break from the whole thing if only for a few hours. Her life was waiting for her outside. And she was eager to join it back.

Her stilettos resounded loud against the floor as she made the few steps that separated her from the door. She needed to retrieve her purse – turn the lights of her office off – then pick up Jane before headed to the Dirty Robber for dinner.

"You got threats too, didn't you?"

The words hit the air – passed underneath her skin – before sliding icily through her veins until they stole her breath. She stopped right away and turned around to stare at the journalist. The last television crew left, brushed her body as they passed the door to walk down the corridor.

The room succumbed to a strange silence, full of untold secrets and subtle understandings. Words were not needed, anyway. The icy truth had embraced their respective gazes to steal away whatever was left of their precarious appearances.


	28. Obedient Quietness

_**Author's note: thank you for all the reviews, I really appreciate them. **_

**Chapter Twenty-Eight – Obedient Quietness**

The bottle had warmed up, drops of water sliding on its surface before being absorbed by the coffee table or dying against her own hand whenever she grabbed it to take a sip. The beer in itself was fresh enough though. Pleasant.

"Here's your sandwich."

The comment pierced through the fog floating over her brain – wrapped her up – and took her back to reality as Jane put down a plate by the series of photos spread over the small surface of the table. With a quiet nod Maura thanked her but didn't touch the food. She wasn't hungry. Not yet. Her priorities lay somewhere else between a series of religious symbols and sociological essays about the Antiquity.

"Several civilizations used to think that a person's soul could get reflected through his or her eyes and many funereal rituals are described following such belief. The defunct was buried without his eyes to make sure that the soul would actually remain on Earth, with his or her family; people who were still alive. Yet such tradition can be found in South America just like in Egypt or Greece and none of them – apparently – are related one way or another to the symbol engraved in the victims' forehead."

Jane nodded. As much as she was officially not working on the case anymore, Frost and Korsak hadn't hesitated the slightest bit to share with her the last pieces of information they had gathered from a few anthropologists but none of them had recognized the symbol as specifically belonging to one civilization past or present.

"So he keeps the eyes for spiritual reasons. Fine. But the whole religion thing didn't lead anywhere so far and..."

A knock on the door interrupted the detective. Since the first head had been found, their attention had been dragged on this precise point except their investigation hadn't led to the mere person nor cult of any sort. Nothing at all. Without a word, Jane stood up – walked to the door – and opened after having checked through the peephole.

Bella Hartman entered. Punctual, surprisingly timid.

"Would you like a beer or something?"

The journalist shook her head and waited for Jane to invite her to sit down on the couch before moving and taking off her trench coat. They had talked at the Dirty Robber the evening before as the woman had revealed to Maura that Catherine Banks had received threats at some point.

Bella didn't know much about them except that the lawyer had assumed that they came from a client. A lost trial, perhaps. It wasn't the first time she had had to face such situation so she hadn't given a lot of importance to the different messages sent to her place.

"I didn't find anything. Your team had searched all over her place, anyway. She must have thrown them away. It had come up in the conversation almost by accident. Catherine wasn't fearful."

Just lonely. But Maura preferred to keep such remark for herself. It didn't belong to the moment, even less with Bella around. The journalist's feelings might not have been mutual for Catherine. A gesture of the hand swept away the woman's apologies until a perfectly manicured finger stopped on an essay that had been left wide open in the middle of the table. Maura bent over and cleared her voice.

"This is the closest symbol we have found in books except it does differ on several points and since the killer is such a perfectionist, we have very few chances that he would give into such mistake as..."

She didn't find the strength to finish her sentence. Her eyes stopped on the series of photos she and her team had taken at the morgue. The heads looked rough, ridiculous. The neon lights landing on them too violently.

If they hadn't known better, they could have mistaken them for carnival masks.

Bella grabbed one of the photos – the one of Catherine – and observed it in silence. The BPD had not transmitted them to the media. It was the first time the journalist could actually see what the city now didn't stop talking about. An uncomfortable silence fell over Jane's apartment.

The deal had been rather implicit, like some sort of obedient quietness over a secret agreement.

They trusted Bella and Bella trusted them. The mere leak in the press anyway and they would know it came from her. But something told them that she wouldn't. Because of _Anactoria_, because of Catherine Banks. Because of the silence over her private life. The game was too big to not respect the rules.

"Why have you been dismissed from the case?"

The journalist's voice broke yet an incredible strength seemed to envelop her attitude and she calmly looked up at Jane. The brunette had sat by Maura and was now playing nervously with the hem of her shirt. She shrugged at the question, looked aside.

"Cavanaugh assumed that it was getting too personal. As we told you yesterday, he knows for Maura's threats and... And for us as well. I mean I guess... To an extent. I lost my nerves on a crime scene, it's not what a cop is supposed to do; even less a detective. But I couldn't help it. I thought Maura had..."

For the first time, they were openly talking about their couple to someone. Nothing was implicit nor untold. They didn't hide it. Jane simply wished that it had been more glorious. She was tired of this darkness surrounding the start of their brand new relationship. She was tired of everything.

"Since the second threat, an officer follows Maura everywhere when I am not around but who knows... Let's face it, it's not that hard to break into such poor protection. He isn't trained for that. Anything can happen, at any moment."

Maura squeezed her partner's knee in a gesture she hoped reassuring. It was a warm evening yet Jane had closed the windows of her apartment. Under other circumstances, she would have let the breeze come in but tonight even a locked door seemed too fragile somehow. They had four heads back. Only one was missing before the case would mark a turning point. They knew it. It was obvious.

Like some death cycle and once he would be done with his first victims, the killer would focus on his brand new list with Maura's name on top of it.

"I'm going to leave Boston. Once you close this case, I will quit and move out. Maybe go to the West Coast, I don't know yet. For years I thought that Massachusetts was a warm place but whenever I turn around all I see now is a complete darkness. Too many bad memories. Too many failed dreams."

Bella's announcement got the effect of a cold shower. Jane and Maura had never really been close to her – in spite of the scientist having spent a night with her – but she was a very influential figure in the Boston area. A brilliant journalist. Young, hardworking. With a successful career. But with that identical loneliness to the one that used to darken Catherine Banks' features. Almost imperceptible; oppressive.

"I am a California girl, anyway! I should have known that all this snow would drag me down at some point."

The lightness of her tone of voice died in the emptiness of her broken heart and as Maura looked down, she realized that Bella had already left Boston behind. She wanted to move on, to forget everything and maybe one day be able to say that life was still worth it.

That it wasn't stupid to have some dreams.

On the contrary.

In a subconscious gesture, the honey blonde leaned against Jane. The Italian reacted immediately and passed a protective arm around her waist; her hand coming to rest on the scientist's lap. It was this heat that Maura had fantasized about. These moments that barely lasted three seconds but that following a tricky game of the brain remained engraved as bright memories for the eternity.

The ringing of her cell phone pierced loudly in the night and made the three women jump in surprise. Maura grabbed the device – looked at the screen – and took the call before swallowing hard; knowing that the BPD was supposed to reach her for one case and one case only.

"Dr. Isles?"


	29. Icy Geometry

_**Author's note: thank you everyone, let's see if Bella is one to trust or not; we're near the end, now.**_

**Chapter Twenty-Nine – Icy Geometry**

Five different colors. On paper, it could have looked sweet – some sort of art work over a map of the city – but behind the plastic drawing pins, the only thing that Jane could see was a series of corpses and disfigured faces.

The joyful spectrum of colors almost seemed incongruous, as a matter of fact. Way too far from the reality that lay behind their primary purpose.

Like most of serial killers, the man they were looking for was organized yet the different crime scenes – spread over Boston – didn't seem to make much sense. Most of the times, the victim had been killed somewhere else, though. The fact he had taken the time to move them from one spot to another had thus its importance.

Frustrating detail that probably played a key-role in all of this.

"You need to eat something. You skipped lunch."

Jane forced a smile at Frost as he held a sandwich out to her. She politely accepted it but put it down on her desk - the plastic wrap resounding too loud in the quietness of the evening – without even casting a glance at it.

She had eaten half an apple since the last head had reappeared the previous night. Adrenalin had done the rest and closed the door to her primary needs. She wasn't hungry nor tired. Her brain had plunged into a loud turmoil and nothing else mattered anymore. Even Cavanaugh hadn't said a word when she had showed up at the crime scene with Maura. She was still officially off the case but couldn't care less about administrative statuses.

In her own head, she had always been in charge of it.

"Ah... Dr. Isles... Perhaps you will manage to put some sense in my partner's head. She hasn't eaten a thing since forever!"

Maura looked tired. Her features had deepened and her impeccable makeup didn't manage to hide the paleness of her complexion. A cruel game of lights made her look shorter, more fragile; her shadow on the floor way too thin. Her brow furrowed at Frost's comment and she locked her eyes with Jane's. In a perfect silence. Not heavy nor full of reproach but apologetic.

She felt guilty.

"Do you have anything new?"

The question was rhetorical. Maura knew it but she couldn't help herself, probably in a vain attempt to find comfort in her fragile hopes. She crossed her arms against her chest – repressed a shiver – and let her feet guide her to the glass wall where the evolution of the case hung there and seemed to mock their lack of lead. She observed the photos she knew by heart and was now recognizing as being part of her life. The depth of the wounds, the blood that had dried on the hair. The bruises on the cheekbones.

The corpses hadn't talked much to her. Apart from the suddenness of the death. At least they had not suffered. None of the victims had had enough time for that. Thankfully.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. This freaking penta-murder is getting on my nerves and I swear the moment we catch that guy, I will let a scream of pure satisfaction come out."

Jane's words passed underneath her skin. Blankly. They ran through her veins in a perfect neutrality – numbing her silent hopes – until they reached her brain and something caught her attention; made her frown. Her eyes stopped on the map, the different pins.

One color per victim.

"What did you say?"

Her whisper brushed her lips but the feeling abdicated to the whirl of confusion her mind had lost itself into without any warning. Laughter rose somewhere in her back, far in the distance. In an effort of deep concentration, Maura squinted her eyes at the map then passed her finger over each pin.

The plastic was warm and the contact soft. Yet burning as another kind of image made it to her head in silence. She felt the seconds fly away and was about to repeat her question when Jane finally spoke.

"That I'd scream of delight...?"

Maura shook her head and didn't hide her annoyance. Her sudden impatience. Biting her lower lip, she waved at Jane and sighed loudly.

"No. Before that. What you said about the murders."

But not waiting for her partner to repeat her sentence, Maura turned around – grabbed two pens on the nearest desk – and proceeded to take off each pin one by one, replacing them by a dark spot. She heard the complains in her back but swept them away immediately with a gesture of the hand.

"I said that this penta-murder was going on my nerves... Maur', what are you doing?"

Her hands were shaking in anticipation. Another reason why she hated succumbing to her instinct. She couldn't control herself by then, even less the feelings that seemed to rise from the chemical reactions of her body. A quiet frenzy embraced her and as she finally made a step backwards to have a full view on the lines she had just traced, she thought about Catherine Banks. And Bella Hartman.

All the victims she had only got to know once their hearts had ceased to beat.

"A pentagram... He has drawn a pentagram through the different crime scenes... It finds its balance – its geometrical center – right on... At the corner of Beacon Street and School Street by the Athenaeum..."

Intrigued, Jane – Korsak – and Frost approached the glass wall. Now that the pins had been replaced by spots and Maura had joined each of them, the symbol appeared clearly on the map. Too much to be an odd coincidence. An uncomfortable silence floated over the room, like the quiet electricity that charged the air before letting explode its strength in a summer storm.

Jane emerged from her trance before her colleagues and swallowed hard.

"I need a full team to secure the area. Now!"

Long after she would have left along with officers and detectives, Jane's voice would keep on haunting the open space. It had hit the air with a unusual high-pitched tone. Fear melting in the excitement of a couple of hopes. The hasted steps towards the elevators would also keep on echoing against the walls. Fuzzy ghost of a blaring sound, pale reminiscence of a sudden frenzy.

Maura would remain on the unit floor. Leaned against the Italian's desk, she would stare at the pentagram and let the minutes fly away in silence. She wasn't alone, didn't feel that way. But the latent fear that it may not go as she wanted it to kept on weighing heavily. It wasn't her instinct talking but a rational thinking. She was safe at the BPD, nothing would happen to her as long as she stayed in the building.

But Jane was out – in the night – at the mercy of an icy game of geometry.

"I have always despised these moments. How many times have I assumed that it might have been the last time I saw her leave, disappear behind a door? I hate the feelings. I can't stand the whole thing."

Her murmured confession slid on her lips almost shamefully. She looked down at the floor then took a deep breath before locking her eyes with Cavanaugh's. He would only leave the BPD for the address a red spot pointed loudly on the map if the crime unit called him.

"She is an excellent detective."

Maura nodded. Calmly, slowly. In a few hours, the moon would vanish away and – defeated by the sun – the darkness would abdicate to the bright light of the day. Warmer temperatures. Delicate shades. She hoped so. Yet what if by the first hours of the morning her life decided to remain in the obscurity?

"She is. Yet that doesn't prevent the worst from happening."

Something hurt in her heart, the power of words she had never dared to say out loud. As they passed her lips, a lump formed in her throat and made her swallow hard. Her breath turned rough, difficult. She hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to Jane, hadn't had a chance to give her a last kiss; the mere embrace. Instead, she had looked at the brunette run away from her and within a second everything might have been over.


	30. Everlasting Renaissance

**Chapter Thirty – Everlasting Renaissance**

The wood cracked under her tiptoes as she crossed the room plunged in the dark and passed the large French windows to reach the balcony. The sand clutched to the sole of her bare feet; rough contact with her skin. She made a face and tried to ignore the feeling as she sat down on the floor by Maura and let a gust of wind lift up her long shirt to reveal her naked hips. For long seconds, Jane remained quiet.

Eyes closed, she listened to the waves crashing below on the beach while the smell of the ocean went to her head bewitchingly. The darkness tended to amplify her other senses and suddenly she was aware of a hundred details that the bright light of the day had made her miss.

The voluptuous heat of Maura's lips brushed her shoulder, soon followed by the ephemeral contact of a ghost tongue over her own warm skin. The touch made her swallow hard, sent a shiver down her spine as she felt the honey blonde's hand rest on her inner thigh. Almost innocently. The fingers stopped only a few inches away from a more sensitive flesh and remained still.

"I'm not twenty-five anymore, Maura. I'm going to be a zombie tomorrow."

Without breaking eye contact with the canopy – the thousand diamonds glimmering in the dark sky of the night – the scientist curled up her lips in a peaceful smile and took a deep breath before letting the air leave her lungs in a loud sigh of relief.

"You have all your life to catch back on the sleep you are missing tonight."

Jane pouted – briefly looked at the sky – and focused back on the ocean she could guess somewhere in front of her, in the distance. The beach house was close to the waters and if she had had a hard time at the beginning when they had arrived, the loud sound of the waves now rocked her to sleep to the point that she would miss it when they returned to Boston.

Something got tense in her body as she thought about Massachusetts. As much as she deeply loved the city, she dreaded the moment their flight would land at Logan International. The distance with the East Coast was soothing. Necessary.

She wasn't ready.

"Then if you don't want me to fall asleep, let me suggest you a couple of ways to keep me awake until the morning."

The lightness of Maura's giggle filled the air and warmed up her heart with a delicacy that made it beat faster and stirred up a whole series of reactions throughout her body. She was in love. It was blinding and she liked the sensation more than anything. In a fluid movement Jane extended her suntanned legs and settled in the crook of her partner's neck. She needed cuddling; a lot of human contact to make sure she hadn't lost herself in a dream.

The last few weeks had been tough and even if their weight was slowly fading away with the passing of time, memories were still too fresh – too harsh – in her mind.

Magnus O'Hara. If Maura hadn't been the medical examiner in charge of the case then Jane would have spared her the details. She would have kept for herself the spiral staircase that had taken them down to an old cellar – humidity seeping through the stoned walls lit up by dusty torches – where a pentagram had been painted on the floor. In its center five jars had been put down, candle flames echoing against their contents: the victims' eyes, floating in formalin. They had found the door leading to the basement after long hours spent at the Athenaeum, hidden behind a shelf in the librarian's office.

A cult of some sort working in the so-called name of a divinity that belonged to popular beliefs in Haiti. Members gathered at night and let their voices rise in chants to clean the Earth of lesbianism that all of them considered as the worst of sins. O'Hara was a complex person with a deep hatred of women but a rather remarkable quality of speech had allowed him to convince other people to assist his madness of relieving his victims' soul in the darkness of the night.

Video store owner, architect, bartender, trader, teacher. The members of what was now considered as a sect came from very different fields and through their jobs had managed to find potential victims. The stalking took a month – roughly – and then the strike.

O'Hara was a European weapon collector whose French swords from the 16th century filled the living-room of his suburban house.

If she had been able to hide it all, Jane wouldn't have told Maura that among the stalking photos of the victims appeared a few of her with Catherine. Both women were standing by the lawyer's house; in the night. The blonde's hand clutched to her acolyte's wrist while a suggestive smile played on her lips. A member of the cult was one of Catherine's neighbor. He had paid attention to her late-night visitors.

"Can't you simply enjoy star gazing? It is one of the most relaxing activities. So many stories lie behind the stars. So many legends... They are all there – opened to you – quietly."

The BPD had remained silent over the photos of Maura found at the cult place. "_The temple of horrors"_ as the media had soon renamed it. Since the reason of the murders had been revealed, it wouldn't have been easy to keep the private life of the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth unknown as it should be. Not that there was anything scandalous about her sexual orientation. It was simply a detail that nobody had the right to put under the light but Maura herself if she ever felt like to in the end.

Jane nodded more out of politeness than anything else. She shook her head – trying to sweep away the thoughts of the O'Hara case – and looked up at the sky in silence. Maura was safe, she was safe.

"Do you know why I like so much the night?"

The question twirled in the night before joining the stars up in the sky which reflection on the waters seemed to cover the ocean of glimmering gold nuggets that moved quietly in the darkness. Maura let one these long – confusing – sighs slide on her lips as her own words took her to Bella Hartman. The journalist had announced that she would quit her position and move out of Boston once the O'Hara's trial would be over. She hadn't changed her mind.

"I like the night because it holds the promise that the darkness won't last. At some point, you know that – no matters what – the sky will turn clear. Bright."

And deep inside, Maura hoped that Bella remembered that.

Life was an everlasting renaissance. Some dreams and hope could crash, others would replace them to melt – at times – into reality bringing along their soft shades; a unique feeling of belonging suddenly to the right place. The right person.

Maura cleared her voice – passed a protective arm around Jane's waist – and stared with determination straight in front of her. At times she wished people could see her outside of the BPD. She might have learned to appreciate the image media and colleagues had of her, a feeling of bitterness remained at the surface.

The Queen of the Dead wasn't icy nor deprived of any feeling. On the contrary. She was well alive and loved it. She laughed – cried – and dreamed. Like anyone else. Her travel on the Styx was temporary – almost delicate – and full of tricky appearances. The shadows of the night suited her well and she did embrace them perfectly.

Yet she enjoyed the sunrise when pink shades melted into orange ones before abandoning themselves to the bright yellow of the morning.

Just like now.

"Look in front of you, Jane. Please. This is what I want to share with you. This is my fantasy."

She had chosen Hawaii for its exotic scenery and breathtaking sunrises over the Pacific. The first hours of the morning were the perfect symbol of the renaissance they were looking for after weeks spent into the darkness of doubts. Their life was taking a brand new turn. It was now time for them to fully enjoy it.

Brightly. In warm shades. Just like the ones that were timidly rising over the Pacific and telling them that they still had a whole life to live.

The End

_**Author's note: thank you very much for having followed and reviewed this story that was slightly different from the previous ones. Tomorrow, I will start posting a new one, probably a lot lighter. I hope you will enjoy it as well.**_


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